


Splinter

by AVAAntares



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Divergent Timelines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 83,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9415802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVAAntares/pseuds/AVAAntares
Summary: A single word changes the past, saving Owen but costing Ianto his life. Reawakened by the glove, Ianto struggles to come to terms with his own death, while the team races to save Cardiff from the splintering timeline and the monsters it has unleashed. What must be sacrificed to salvage the future? And who is the cloaked figure just at the edge of Jack’s vision? (Set immediately after Reset.)





	1. Saturday I.

_The cold mist roiled thick about them._

_“Do I have your agreement?”_

_A single word:_ _“Yes.”_

* * *

Life returned in a nauseating rush.

There was no dark tunnel to traverse, no celestial stair to ascend, no gradual awakening—simply cacophony assaulting and overwhelming his senses. A blinding glare, tangled with meaningless sounds, wrapped in textures he could not identify. He struggled through the web, seeking something concrete to cling to, until he latched onto the brightest sensation within his awareness: A steady, intense beam locked into the back of his…

What was that? There was a word for it, he was sure… Head? Skull?

Yes, that was it. Right at the base of his skull. He could feel it, now, faintly, a steady pressure connecting him to the sensations around him. Strange that he hadn’t felt any of it before.

But then, he hadn’t felt anything for quite a while.

Ianto tried to open his eyes, and then realized they must already be open; the visual information he sought was mixed in with the rest of the noise. It was too bright, the lights and hues bleeding out of their boundaries like watercolors. He squinted against the harsh glare and tried to make sense of his surroundings. White tile, stained in places, stretching away in a high curve.

Autopsy bay?

Gradually the sensory chaos resolved into words and familiar voices, and he clung to the one he had most wanted to hear the last time he had heard anything at all.

“Ianto?” Jack’s voice, nearer than the others, artificially steady. “Ianto, can you hear me?”

He could, but didn’t seem to be air in his lungs to reply. His lips moved sluggishly, and all he managed was a rasp deep in his throat.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here. Time?” He heard the shrill note in Jack’s last word. It sounded wrong. Frantic. Jack rarely did frantic.

“Um…” Fumbling hands. “Twelve seconds.” Gwen’s voice, underscored by a faint, familiar ticking. Jack’s stopwatch? Someone must have taken it from his pocket.

Ianto tried to speak again, concentrating. Breathe in, constrict muscles… “What’s happened?” he croaked.

“You were shot,” Jack answered.

Ianto could see Jack clearly now, leaning over him. Even though Jack’s face was inverted from Ianto’s perspective, and cast into shadow by the ceiling lights, Ianto recognized the tightness about the lips that meant Jack was withholding something. “What else?”

This time Jack flinched visibly. “You died, Ianto,” he said softly. “I’ve brought you back with the glove.” The energy driving through the back of Ianto’s skull flared as Jack shifted his fingers.

Dead. He was _dead_. The memory came back to him: Searing pain in his chest, breath failing, lights dimming, Jack’s voice breaking on his name, receding into silence… Ianto scanned the room frantically. He was laid out on a table in the autopsy bay, his colleagues waiting awkwardly in line to say their final farewells. He was the guest of honor at his own bloody _wake_.

Ianto couldn’t decide whether he wanted to engage in a bout of violent swearing or an hysterical breakdown, but after a moment’s consideration he decided he didn’t really have the energy for either. “Time’s short then,” he murmured practically, suppressing the panic by force of will. “Gwen?”

“What is it, love?” Gwen stepped forward, hands clutched tightly to her chest. Bless her, she had tears in her eyes. Ianto looked significantly at her hands, and she followed his gaze to the stopwatch clasped between them. “What? Oh! Er, thirty-four seconds.” She looked to Jack, wide-eyed. “How long will he…”

“Pen and paper,” Ianto rasped. They were pressed into his hand almost immediately, and Ianto glanced up at Owen in surprise. “Thanks.”

Jack peered across his body. “What are you writing?”

“The new backup codes for the secure archives. Hadn’t had time to copy them over to you.”

There was the light pressure of a hand on his arm, and Toshiko’s voice reached him. “Ianto, that’s not important right now…”

“Not right now, no, but will be next time you need to access the archives.” Ianto strained to think of anything else he needed to share with the team in the seconds remaining. Most of what he had committed to memory was in the database if they looked for it; Tosh would likely be able to find the records. And Jack knew the passwords to nearly everything…

_Jack_. Ianto looked up and met Jack’s gaze. For the first time he noticed the dried blood and dirt on Jack’s face. “What happened to you?” he asked reflexively. Jack’s expression softened, and he shook his head. Ianto had to agree that it wasn’t the most practical question, not when he had mere moments to live. Or… not live. Whatever.

“Sixty seconds,” Gwen announced. Her eyes widened in surprise as Ianto reached over and took the timepiece from her fingers.

“Stopwatch is my job,” he said gently. “You can’t take over until I’m properly gone.”

Tears welled again in Gwen’s eyes, but she made a valiant effort to return his smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jack glanced around at the team. “All right, everyone, if you have something to say, say it quick.”

Toshiko was the first, bending over Ianto with tears on her cheeks. “I’m going to miss you. Thank you for always taking care of me. Of all of us.”

“It was my pleasure,” he replied with a genuine smile. It had been, at least where Tosh was concerned.

“We won’t forget you,” Gwen promised.

“Thanks.” Ianto clutched the stopwatch tightly, its soft ticking oddly comforting even as it measured away his remaining moments.

Owen remained uncharacteristically silent until Jack prompted him with a sharp word. The doctor shuffled forward, glancing off to one side. “Sorry, mate,” he said flatly.

Ianto waited for him to reference something specific, but apparently that was as much as he was going to get from the good doctor. Well, he could be just as vague as Owen, and as sincere. “Yup. Me, too.”

The watch ticked on. Ianto lifted his eyes to their leader, still bending over him. “Jack?”

Jack’s face tightened, and he reached his free hand forward to squeeze Ianto’s shoulder. “I want you to be prepared for this. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.” That was a lie, and Jack probably knew it. But that wasn’t important now; there was more, much more that needed to be said, if only he could find the words. “Jack, I…”

But Jack wasn’t looking into his eyes any more; his gaze had moved down to Ianto’s hands. He was frowning. “Gwen, you reset the stopwatch before you started it, right?”

Gwen brushed at her eyes and sniffed. “I did, yeah.”

Before Ianto could react, Jack reached forward and snatched the timepiece from his fingers. “How are we at three minutes?” He glanced down at Ianto, brow furrowed. “No one has ever lasted that long.”

“Except Suzie,” Owen put in.

Jack shook his head. “Suzie was a special case. This is abnormal.”

Ianto stared back at him, stunned. “Sorry to have upset your schedule.”

“Something feels off.” Jack flexed his fingers and Ianto’s vision swayed, his head rocking in the grip of the metal gauntlet. “Tosh, Owen, take some readings, see if you can figure out what’s going on here.”

The tender feelings Ianto had been struggling to express a moment before evaporated. “You’re the one controlling the glove,” he snapped. “If keeping me here is an inconvenience to you, by all means, pull the plug.”

This time Jack had the grace to look chagrined. “Ianto, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t fancy being kept around as a science project, anyway.”

Gwen cleared her throat. “I’ll just go help Tosh, then,” she murmured, and fled up the stairs after the other woman. Owen hunched over his desk at the far side of the bay, his back to them.

The lack of audience seemed to soften Jack’s demeanor. He set the stopwatch on the corner of the autopsy table and pressed his free hand to Ianto’s cheek. “You know that’s not true. The last thing I want is for you to go.”

The metal table magnified the ticking of the watch, and Ianto turned his ear away from the loud noise. The movement pulled him away from Jack’s hand. “I’m not sure why you brought me back at all.”

Jack was silent for several seconds. At last he sighed deeply. “Ianto…”

“Jack!” Toshiko’s voice broke in. Ianto tilted his head until he could see her at the top of the stairs. “I’m not getting readings on the glove.”

“You mean the levels are normal?” Jack frowned. “It doesn’t feel the same, though.”

“No, I mean I can’t get a reading on the glove. _Any_ reading. It’s as though it’s not operational.”

“But Ianto’s awake, so it has to be working.” Gwen’s face appeared above the railing beside Tosh. “Doesn’t it?”

“Actually, I’m not sure.” Jack wriggled his fingers again, jarring Ianto’s head. “I don’t feel anything from it right now.”

Ianto closed his eyes and concentrated on the place the beam of energy had entered his skull. “For that matter, neither do I.” He shifted his head experimentally. “Jack, take your hand away.”

Jack’s lips thinned. “If I do that, it’ll break the connection. You’ll die.”

“Already dead,” Ianto corrected with remarkable _sang froid,_ even by his own standards _._ “And I can’t be sure there’s any connection to break. I don’t feel a thing.”

“You’re sure about this?”

Ianto nodded and braced himself, but as Jack slipped the gauntlet out from under his head, there was no discernible change in his sensory perception. He was left in even less doubt as to his physical presence; as Jack released him, his head dropped to the table with an audible _crack_.

Jack winced. “Sorry! I’m sorry, didn’t mean to drop you. You okay?”

“Didn’t hurt,” Ianto replied automatically, then frowned. “That really didn’t hurt. It sounded as though it should have.”

“You’re still here.” Jack stared at the gauntlet, flexing his fingers in wonder. “I’m not using the glove. How are you still here?”

“Dunno. Help me up?” Ianto struggled upright, Jack supporting his shoulders, until he could swing his legs over the side of the table. Gwen appeared at his side and took his arm, while Toshiko went to Jack and began probing the resurrection glove with some kind of scanning device.

“Owen?” Jack called. “What’ve you got?”

The doctor tossed his hands in the air and swiveled his chair to face them. “Nothing. No readings. According to all bio scans, he’s still dead.”

“As I thought, the glove is definitely inactive,” Toshiko reported. “Just reading as a lump of alien metal, now.” Tilting her head thoughtfully, she adjusted a dial and turned the portable scanner on Ianto.

Owen returned to the table and began a more thorough medical examination. Ianto frowned as the doctor flashed a light into his eyes. The brightness washed out his vision, but it wasn’t as painful or as unpleasant as he had expected. He didn’t even flinch. “Why didn’t it hurt when I banged my head just now?”

“Probably because you’re _dead_ , mate,” Owen returned, though it lacked his usual venom. He shook the wrist he was holding for emphasis. “No pulse. Probably no nerve impulses, either.”

“But I can feel you doing that. Sort of.”

“Can you? Interesting.” Owen reached back to a tray behind him and palmed something. “Close your eyes,” he instructed. There was a light pressure on Ianto’s leg. “Can you feel where my hand is?”

“Mid-thigh. Any higher, and you’ll owe me dinner.”

“You’re not my type, teaboy.” The sensation moved. “How about now?”

“Closer to the knee, now. Though… it feels like you’ve still got a finger or something in the first spot.”

“Open your eyes, Ianto.”

Ianto did so, and looked down at his leg. Owen’s fingers were still pressed just above his knee. A hand’s breadth higher, a large-gauge needle had been stabbed vertically into his thigh. “Oh.”

“Looks like you have limited sensory awareness. Some touch, but not pain. Probably a good thing for you, considering that hole in your chest.” Owen pulled the needle free. Ianto braced for the pain, but he felt less than a finger-flick. “Whatever part of you that glove brought back, it wasn’t the part that keeps your body ticking.”

“There’s no sign of alien biology, either,” Toshiko added, tapping some buttons on the scanner interface. She angled the screen to show Jack. “He registers as completely human. Minute traces of rift energy, but no more than the rest of us. Probably just casual exposure from working here. Although…” She frowned and fiddled with the device again. “There’s a high-frequency fluctuation that might be _some_ kind of energy signature, but I can’t identify it. I’ll have to expand the oscillation range and manually recalibrate the scanner to isolate whatever it is.”

“Do it,” Jack said. “The sooner the better. Gwen, grab that instrument tray.” He wrenched his hand out of the gauntlet, which he wrapped in a towel and dropped on the tray. “Seal this thing in a stasis box until Tosh is ready for further testing. I don’t want anyone touching it until we know exactly what it’s capable of.”

“On it,” Gwen said. She balanced the tray carefully as she climbed the stairs, trailing Toshiko.

Jack massaged his hand as he watched the medic work. “Owen, any estimate as to how long this will last?”

“No idea. Could be a minute, could be a year.”

“Best guess as to what’s causing it?”

Owen shook his head. “No medical cause that I can find, not without a lot more testing. He’s conscious, but not alive. He doesn’t seem to be healing like Suzie did—though what with you being immortal, I don’t know how that would work. It’s not like he could drain your life the way she did to Gwen.” He squinted thoughtfully at Jack. “Could he?”

Jack shrugged. “You got me. I don’t even fully understand how my immortality works. Sometimes I heal, sometimes I don’t, sometimes I can transfer life energy, sometimes I can’t.”

“Might be useful to pin that down some time,” Owen mused. “We could do some testing, see if we could bottle whatever you’ve got. A shot of immortality would make a hell of a field kit.”

“Later. Bigger fires to put out right now.”

“Right.” Owen picked up one of Ianto’s hands and experimentally pinched the skin. “This was a different glove to the last one, and we never really understood how that one worked in the first place, so we don’t have much to go on. Anything I tell you at this point is going to be pure guesswork.”

“That seems to be the order of the day,” Jack muttered. “Recommended course of action?”

Owen shrugged. “Don’t leave him out in the sun too long?”

“ _He_ is sitting right here,” Ianto interjected. “And if it’s not too much to ask, he would really like to clean up and get into some fresh clothes.” Ianto picked at his stained shirt in disgust. His suit was crusted with blood and rank with a stench that didn’t bear thinking about, and now that he had gotten past the initial shock of waking up dead, his immediate concern was restoring whatever was left of his dignity. Besides, that ominous nine-millimeter hole just to the left of his necktie was really starting to trouble him.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “I really can’t let you leave the Hub. Not until we have a better idea of what’s happened.”

Ianto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I keep a change of clothes here,” he said, though Jack knew that full well—not only because Ianto’s spare clothes were stored in his bunker, but because he was usually the reason Ianto needed them. “I think we’ll all be more comfortable if I go put them on.”

Jack glanced at Owen, who shrugged. “All right. Go clean up, and then report back to Owen for medical observation.”

Ianto pushed himself off the table, bracing against it until he regained his balance. His body felt heavier than usual, like weight returning to limbs after rising from deep water. “Can I use your shower?”

“Of course. Can you make it on your own? You need some help?”

“I think I can manage, thanks.”

“Try not to get the wound too wet. And you’d better stick to cold water,” Owen added thoughtfully. “Heat speeds up the onset of rigor mortis.”

Ianto braced for Jack to make a tasteless remark about cold showers or stiffening anatomy, but he only stepped closer and put a hand on Ianto’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Ianto.”

Ianto smiled weakly. “Hardly feels like I’ve been gone, sir.”

But as he made his way across the catwalks toward Jack’s office, feeling fractionally more distant from the familiar things around him, he wondered just how far gone he really was.

* * *

For the first time since the crack of Copley’s fatal shot had split the night, Jack allowed himself a moment of stillness. He leaned against the edge of the autopsy table and took long, steady breaths. The air filling his lungs was so easy to take for granted, but after watching Ianto’s chest fall and fail to rise again, he was almost painfully aware of each breath. Of the blood pounding in his ears. Of all the signs of life so precious to those around him, but which he couldn’t shed, no matter how many times he died.

The increase in oxygen loosened some panic-fueled knot that had been coiling in his gut for hours, and as it unwound Jack began to feel the aftereffects of crisis management. The back of his skull twinged with the birth pangs of a splitting headache. He glanced down at his fingers and clenched them to hide the post-adrenaline tremble. He should probably drink some water—but it would also be a good idea to let his knees resolidify before he attempted to make it to the kitchenette. Bad form, collapsing in front of one’s subordinates.

Jack looked over at Owen, who was frowning in his general direction. “What?” Jack demanded, and the doctor jerked back to awareness. Apparently the frown hadn’t been for Jack, then.

“You said for Ianto to report back to me for observation, but I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to be observing. What are you hoping to find?”

“Anything that helps explain what’s going on. Give him a full medical workup. Run tests, radiation scans, infrared…” Jack waved a hand toward a panel with lots of buttons. “Use whatever that machine is over there. Do what you always do.”

Owen squinted at him. “So… you want me to treat him like an alien, then?”

Jack’s head throbbed more insistently. “Just get to the bottom of this,” he said evenly. “We have to know what’s keeping him alive before we can decide what to do about it.”

“He’s not _alive_ , Jack. All the evidence indicates that he’s quite dead.”

Jack tamped down the urge to seize him by the lapels of his lab coat. It wasn’t Owen’s fault that Ianto had been shot, nor that Copley’s aim had been too accurate for the doctor’s frantic efforts to save him. “You know what I mean. Get Martha in if you need help. She should still be at her hotel.”

Owen rolled his eyes in a manner expressing exactly how likely he thought it was that he would need another physician’s help, but he wisely held his tongue. _For once_ , Jack thought wryly.

“Jack!” Toshiko’s voice bounced eerily off the curved ceiling of the medical bay. “You might want to take a look at this. I’m getting some strange readings.”

Jack bolted up the steps, glancing automatically toward his office, into which Ianto had disappeared. “Is the glove active again?”

“Not the glove.” Toshiko looked back at him from her workstation. Gwen was already leaning over her other shoulder. “The rift monitor. Look at these shifts.”

Jack scanned the graph on the monitor she turned toward him. Rift activity was charted in a cardiograph-like series of spikes and troughs. The energy patterns weren’t unusual, except that everything seemed doubled—each change in level was followed a fraction of a second later by an identical shift. “Never seen that before. It could be a hardware stutter. Is the monitor functioning properly?”

“Already checked.” Of course she had; Toshiko would have analyzed the entire system within seconds of noticing an anomaly. “There’s nothing wrong with the equipment calibration or the graphing software. Each spike is reading as two separate but identical events, a few milliseconds apart.”

“Could it be an echo of some kind?” Gwen put in. “The rift energy being reflected back to the sensors, or something?”

Toshiko shook her head. “We’ve had some feedback before, but nothing with such perfect consistency across the entire system. Any ideas, Jack?”

“Nothing jumps to mind. What else is going on in Cardiff? Anything else out of whack?”

Toshiko’s fingers flew over her keyboard as she brought up a half-dozen other monitoring systems. “Nothing obvious… Wait, here’s something.” A window enlarged to replace the rift graph on the monitor. “It’s minor, but there’s some weird energy being picked up near Llanedeyrn.”

Gwen frowned. “Isn’t that where we just were? Near the Pharm?”

“You’re right, it’s not far from there. This looks like it’s centered in a local park. It’s reading almost like some sort of temporal displacement.”

“You mean like that bunch of Picts we picked up last week?” Gwen wrinkled her nose. She had been tasked with wrangling with the woad-covered horde until Jack could retrieve a temporal anchor to send them home again. “Can I sit this one out? I’d prefer to keep ‘wrestling smelly men in body paint’ off my CV.”

Jack couldn’t resist the soft pitch. “What, you’ve never been to a frat party before?”

“It’s not a localized incursion like that.” Always on point, Toshiko ignored their bantering and focused on the problem at hand. “It’s more of a widespread…” She frowned at the readings. “Fuzz.”

Jack blinked. “Tosh, you surprise me. Where did you pick up a swear word from the thirty-fifth century?”

“What? What are you talking about? I didn’t swear.”

“Oh? Never mind, then. Go on.”

She shot him a sideways look before calling up a graphic representation of the readings on her screen. “Look. The readings aren’t particularly unusual, just a little bit fuzzy. Indistinct. Nothing’s really out of its time, but the whole area is sort of showing a tiny bit _off_. Like the edges are blurred.”

“But you can’t blur time.” Gwen glanced at Jack. “Can you?”

Jack squinted at the numbers. “Can you display these readings the same way as the ones for the rift monitor? You know, the kind of graph with the lines?”

“You mean a line graph?” Toshiko grinned. “Of course I can.” After a few keystrokes, the image appeared on the screen, an unremarkable pattern of squiggles that seemed to repeat in a few places.

“Now overlay the rift graph for the same time period.”

Toshiko worked her magic, and a slice of the rift graph appeared on the same chart. The doubled peaks and valleys of the rift activity lined up perfectly with the repeating sections of the other chart.

“Ooh, that’s interesting,” Gwen murmured. “Good thinking, Jack.”

“That’s why I’m the boss,” he replied automatically. “All right. Gwen, with me. Tosh, you coordinate from here. We’ll check in when we get to Llanedeyrn. Keep an eye on the readings and let us know if anything changes. Meanwhile, keep working on the glove. That’s our top priority.” 

* * *

The ostentatious hulk of the Torchwood SUV lurched to a halt, one wheel mounting the pavement. Gwen unclenched her fingers from the armrest and flexed them until she was confident that she could operate the door latch, breathing a silent thanks to whatever genius had invented safety belts. Jack’s driving habits were risky when he was in a good mood; when he was under stress, his driving was an outright threat to public welfare. And when he was legitimately frightened, Jack plus automobile could collectively be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.

At least she had a fair guess as to _why_ he was driving like a maniac this time. If Gwen had ever questioned whether Jack’s interest in Ianto Jones was anything more than a convenient office fling, her doubts had been left somewhere along the A4161, along with most of the tread of the SUV’s rear passenger-side tire. Jack had hardly spoken the entire drive, and judging by his driving, he must be out of his mind with anxiety. He had certainly been out of his lane.

She stepped gingerly out of the vehicle and glanced down at the dented remains of a low metal fence beneath the SUV’s tire. “Jack,” she called, “you’ve run over a barricade.”

“Don’t care.” Jack slammed the door of the SUV.

Gwen saw a parking warden stalking toward them, pad in hand, but the woman drew up and scowled as she spotted the TORCHWOOD name incised into the car’s fenders. Gwen shrugged apologetically and hurried to catch up with Jack, who was already striding into the park, coat flaring like the cape of some last-century comic book hero.

“So what are we looking for?” Gwen asked, zipping up her leather jacket. The breeze flecked cold droplets of rain in her face. She rubbed water from her eyes, trying not to smear her mascara.

“No idea. Anything unusual, I guess. Tosh?” Jack tapped his comm unit, and Gwen’s earpiece activated with a beep as it connected to the Hub’s network. “We’re in the park. How are things looking?”

“Same readings as before,” Toshiko’s voice intoned in her ear. “No clear temporal anomaly, but definitely not at normal levels. Still mirroring the rift patterns.”

“Okay. We’ll look around and let you know what we find.” Jack muted the comm and gazed around the park. “See anything?”

Gwen turned in a slow circle, studying the people around her, assessing their movements the way she would have done as a police constable. She shielded her eyes against the rain and squinted at each of them: A middle-aged man walking his dog, shoulders hunched against the wind. A small knot of teenagers, alternately chatting and checking their mobile phones. A couple of kids kicking a football around. After a moment she shook her head. “They all look pretty normal to me.”

“Do they?” Jack squinted at a couple strolling nearby, then looked around again. He flipped open his wrist strap and touched some buttons. At least, Gwen assumed they were buttons. There was no keyboard or display that she could see, and none of them had ever figured out how the device conveyed its information to Jack. Half the time she wondered if he were just fiddling with it to look impressive, and then making things up.

“Can you get BBC3 on that thing?” Gwen grinned, waiting for Jack’s customary smart response.

“Too much static,” Jack muttered.

Gwen was about to suggest he adjust the rabbit ears, but when she glanced over, the tension in the line of Jack’s jaw stopped her. “What is it?”

Jack snapped the wrist strap shut. “Can’t get a fix on any of them,” he growled. “There’s some kind of interference.”

Ah, so he hadn’t heard her joke after all. “You think someone is jamming us?”

Jack shook his head. “It’s more like… You know how, with early broadcast television, when the reception was bad, the picture would go all fuzzy?”

Gwen blinked. _Had_ he been listening to her, or…? Then she realized. “Wait, that’s just how Tosh described the readings. Fuzzy. Like a blurry picture.”

“Huh.” Jack closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“Gwen, look at that guy over there. With the dog.”

She squinted over to where he was pointing. “What about him?”

Jack turned to look at her. “You’re squinting. Are you having trouble seeing him?”

“No, it’s just the rain got in my eyes.”

Jack scanned the park again. “Can you read that sign over there?”

“All pets must be leashed, no skateboarding on footpaths… yeah, I can read it.”

“It isn’t hard to see at this distance?”

“No, it’s fine. I have perfect vision, you know.”

Jack nodded toward the kids with the ball. “What about them?”

Gwen watched them play for a moment, then caught herself squinting again. Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute…”

Jack nodded. “Now you’re getting it.”

“But the kids aren’t any farther away than the sign. Why is it harder to focus on them?”

“They’re moving. Look around—everything that’s holding still is in sharp focus. But the things that are moving, they’re just a _teensy_ bit blurry.”

Gwen watched as the dog paused to hike a leg on a bush. While it held still, it was easy to see, but as soon as it trotted off again it became less distinct. “What’s causing that?”

“I think we’re seeing two moments in time overlapping.” Jack did something with his wrist strap again. “They’re really close, probably just a fraction of a second apart.”

“And that makes them blurry?”

“Imagine you have two prints of the same film. You line them up exactly on top of one another, and you can’t even tell that there are two pictures. But offset the film by a few frames, and you’ll see a double image appear around anything that’s moving in the scene. A ghost effect.”

“Because the motion is actually happening twice, a split second apart,” Gwen concluded. “But anything that’s not moving will still be in focus, because that part of the image overlaps perfectly in all the frames.”

“Exactly.” Jack aimed his wrist strap at the kids playing football and tapped a button. A blue light flickered on the device’s interface, and he frowned.

“So what could make two timelines exist at the same moment?”

“No idea, but it usually triggers some kind of paradox if it goes on long enough.” He touched his earpiece. “Tosh, I think I have an idea what our anomaly is.”

“Go ahead, Jack.”

Before Jack could speak, one of the children kicked the ball, which rocketed directly toward the SUV. Just as the ball reached the car, Gwen’s vision seemed to double—she clearly saw the ball bounce off the side panel of the car, rolling back toward the children. But she could have sworn she also saw the ball fly into the street, where another car was passing. A squeal of brakes echoed in her ears, but the passing car continued without stopping.

The squeal became very real an instant later, as Gwen heard an alarm sound on one of Tosh’s computers. “We just had some kind of spike in the readings,” Toshiko’s voice came over the earpiece. “Did you see anything there?”

“Yeah,” Gwen answered, still staring at the SUV. There was a smudge on the side where the ball had bounced. “It was weird. Did you see that, Jack?”

Jack didn’t answer, and Gwen turned to see him staring off at the horizon. His brow was furrowed, his eyes squinting and shifting minutely as though trying to focus on something that kept moving. Gwen followed his gaze, but couldn’t find anything in the gray sky.

“Jack?” she repeated, and finally touched his arm. “Jack! What are you staring at?”

Jack blinked a few times, then glanced over at her in surprise. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.” He glanced around the park once more, then snapped his wrist strap closed. “Let’s get back to the Hub. Tosh can analyze the readings while we’re on the road.”

“But we just got here!”

“And I don’t think we’re going to find anything else useful, so staying is a waste of time.” He hunched forward to protect his neck from the mist that was closing in. “Come on, it’s getting late.”


	2. Saturday II.

“Um, Owen?”

The doctor turned toward the steps, where Ianto was clutching self-consciously at his unbuttoned shirt. “Yeah?”

“Is there anything you can do about…” Ianto opened the left side of his shirt and waved a hand to indicate the puncture in his chest. Despite his best efforts, the wound had taken on some water in the shower. He’d blotted the worst of it with the clothes he’d died in (a realization that had resulted in his binning the entire ensemble with extreme prejudice), but it was still sticky with semi-congealed fluids, which made it very difficult to ignore. Also, it was in danger of staining his only clean shirt.

Owen seated him on the table. Ianto looked away as the doctor probed and swabbed the wound, then applied a large sticking plaster over the hole. “Best I can do for now.” His tone was almost apologetic. “I can patch you up a bit more once I’ve run some more tests.”

Ianto began to button his shirt. “Tests? I thought you said your scans didn’t show anything.”

Owen held up the swabs, now coated with coagulated blood and unpleasant-looking bits of tissue. “I want to see if there’s any activity on the cellular level. We know your heart’s not beating, but that doesn’t mean _all_ of you is beyond hope. Maybe we could kick some of your cells back into gear and heal you up.”

Ianto frowned. “But how would my cells regenerate if there’s no circulation? I don’t know much about the healing process, but it seems like they’d still need oxygen and such.”

Owen shrugged. “It’s Torchwood. Stranger things have happened.”

The doctor was scraping the samples onto glass plates when Ianto heard Jack’s voice. He went to the top of the stairs and saw Gwen securing the red metal door that led through to the garage. Jack had already crossed the catwalk and was leaning over Toshiko’s workstation, raindrops creeping sluggishly down his back and shoulders. Ianto returned to the medical bay for a towel, then climbed the steps again to rescue the greatcoat.

“I want hard copy,” Jack was saying. “I’ll go through it line by line if I have to. We need to analyze this, figure out what’s generating the time shift and shut it down.”

Ianto blotted at his shoulder with the towel, and Jack jerked around, arms raised defensively. He lowered his hands when he saw Ianto, but there was still a shadow of wariness in his eyes. “Ianto. I thought you were supposed to be under observation with Owen.”

“I was. He’s running tests.” Ianto held up the towel. “You’re wet.”

Jack turned away. “I’ll live.”

“But the wool—”

“It’s fine!” Jack snapped. He drew in a deep breath, and as he expelled it his shoulders relaxed a bit. “It’s fine, I’ll hang it up in the office. Tosh, I want printouts on my desk in two minutes. Gwen,” he called, “report. My office. I need to know exactly what you saw out there, so we can line it up with the energy readings.” He turned toward his office, then glanced back. “Tosh, after you’ve finished, get on with those scans on the glove.”

Jack strode off, leaving Ianto holding a towel and Toshiko typing furiously as she converted reports and sent them to the printer. Gwen smiled awkwardly at Ianto as she hurried past on her way to Jack’s office.

Ianto clutched the towel and looked around the central well. Rarely had he felt so useless. It was clear Jack didn’t want him moving around the Hub, but how far did those restrictions carry? Was he still allowed to make coffee?

Did he want to make coffee?

Would he even be able to taste coffee?

Did he really want to find out?

At last Ianto returned to the medical bay, put the towel in the laundry bin (was he still in charge of laundry?), sat on the autopsy table (he seemed to be spending a lot of time here of late; he should look into making it more comfortable), and watched Owen at work (not terribly exciting). Occasionally he heard the ringing steps of one of the others pass by on the grid flooring upstairs, but no one came down to look for him.

At last Owen pushed back from his microscope and rubbed his eyes. He seemed almost surprised to see Ianto sitting there. “Look, this is gonna take a while, so if you have something else you’d rather be doing…”

Ianto shrugged. “I’m not sure what else I’m allowed to do.”

“Right.” Owen glanced down and fiddled with one of the garish buttons pinned to his lab coat. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this, but… If you want to keep walking and talking, you’ll need to keep your body temperature down. It’s been long enough since your heart stopped beating that we’re going to have to worry about rigor mortis soon, even with the cooldown you had before Jack woke you up.”

Ianto tested his fingers against the edge of the table. Was it his imagination, or was it getting a little more difficult to move them? “Are you suggesting I go back into cold storage?” Now that he was thinking about it, he could definitely sense more resistance in the movement of his jaw and lips. What would happen if his body stiffened up entirely? Would his mind be trapped inside a rigid shell? The thought was terrifying.

“Not necessarily. But one of the lower levels might be a good idea, for the time being. It’s cooler down there. Take your mobile, and I’ll call you if anything interesting comes up. And if you start feeling any different, come back. Or just text me.”

“Let’s hope I still have the manual dexterity,” Ianto muttered darkly. He slid off the table and headed for the lift, telling himself he was only imagining the sluggishness in his limbs.

* * *

Ianto stared at the watery light seeping through the doors of the Tourist Information Centre. The entrance was securely locked, shades drawn, as he supposed it had been since before he had been shot. Still, around the edge of the blinds the last hint of daylight beckoned, offering an escape from this underground nightmare…

Reluctantly, Ianto turned back to his desk. Jack had ordered him to stay in the Hub, and he wasn’t ready to act against Jack’s commands. Not yet.

He retrieved his diary and his favorite pen from the drawer, made sure the rest of his things and the supply cabinet were in order in case anyone else needed to take over his station, then took the lift back down to the main Hub level. No one greeted him as he entered through the cog door. Owen was likely still running tests in the medical area, and he could hear low voices from the direction of Jack’s office. Toshiko and Gwen must be working with him.

“Right,” he murmured aloud. “Guess I should go refrigerate myself.”

He took the long route down the stairs and through the old maintenance corridors, which had the dual advantages of being cooler and more dimly lit than the freight lift. With his pupils permanently dilated, Ianto had discovered that semidarkness was easier to navigate than the floodlight glare of the upstairs lighting.

An access door brought him to the old train tunnel, where in the days before Canary Wharf, a dedicated underground rail line had carried supplies and alien specimens between the London and Cardiff installations. Ianto brushed a hand along the curved wall as he walked, tracing cracks in the glazed surface. Back then, this place had been cutting-edge—the latest technology in high-speed transit; an advanced refrigeration system harvested from an alien ship; mechanical lifts to raise and lower samples between cold storage and autopsy bay—but like most of Torchwood, the passage of time had left it corrupted and outmoded. Ianto wondered how long until they were _all_ obsolete. Jack was fond of saying that the twenty-first century was when everything changed, but what did those changes mean for Torchwood? Nowadays, alien invasions were practically a regular feature on the news. Would Torchwood outlive its usefulness, as these Victorian train tunnels had outlasted theirs?

Ianto faced the wall and let his forehead drop against the smooth brick, laughing bitterly at himself. Who would have thought death would turn him so maudlin?

He continued on until he reached the wide archway that led to the first of the cold storage rooms. This seemed as good a place as any to loiter; his body had most likely been stored here overnight before Jack used the glove on him, and odds were very good that he would be returning here to rest alongside the dozens of Torchwood operatives who had come before. He wondered which drawer his colleagues would assign him. He supposed if he got truly bored, he could save them some time and fill out the paperwork in advance.

Ianto automatically flicked on the overhead lights as he entered, then thought better of it and turned them out again. The security beacons provided more than enough light for him to see the pages of his diary.

He stared down at the book in his hand. He’d retrieved it from upstairs, thinking he should document the last few days of his life while he had the chance, but now that he thought about it he really had no idea what to write. What had dying felt like? He couldn’t remember much, just disjointed images and sounds and fading perception. Last words? Final wisdom? For once, his wit failed to provide him with anything pithy to record.

Ianto slid to the floor and leaned against one of the steel doors, trying to detect its coolness against his back. Suddenly he remembered that this particular drawer contained the half-eaten body of a young woman who had worked for Torchwood back in the Twenties. “Sorry,” he murmured automatically, shifting over into the corner space where there were no doors. Apologizing should have seemed absurd, but he might as well be polite, since they were practically neighbors now.

Well, it wasn’t glamorous, but if his mortal coil had to have an eternal resting place, at least this one was familiar. He had spent quite a bit of time down here among the dead, enjoying the silence and solitude—if not _entirely_ relishing all of his duties, which were many and varied.

Impulsively he flipped open his diary to a new page. Concentrating to hold the pen steady between stiffening fingers, he began writing.

 

_Things I have done in the Torchwood morgue (prior to dying):_

 

He drew a neat bullet point and began his list with one of the first tasks he’d been assigned upon joining Torchwood Three.

 _Inventory._ He had recorded all of the species stored behind the cold steel panels. There had been quite a variety, some of them unidentified, many completely undocumented. The paperwork had been dreadful.

 _Alien processing_. He had sealed away countless specimens captured or killed in Cardiff, along with a number of human victims too contaminated to be released to their families. On occasion, he’d requisitioned unclaimed bodies from the city morgue and staged deaths or suicides to explain the individuals’ disappearance. He disliked that part of his job, but it was sometimes necessary.

 _Pizza removal_. He had cleaned at least a dozen of Owen’s leftover lunches out of the freezer drawers. Why couldn’t the doctor understand that there was a perfectly good refrigerator in the kitchen?

 _Meat harvesting_. He had divested the morgue of nearly half its alien occupants trying to find some kind of food that Myfanwy liked as well as codfish. Without luck, as it turned out. Who knew pteranodons were such picky eaters?

 _Torchwood operative processing_. He had sealed Suzie Costello’s body away. Twice, actually. The second time, he had been much less conflicted about it. He had even briefly considered welding the door shut, just in case.

 _Stopwatch_. He had propositioned his boss. Casually. Over the corpse of a coworker. With a stopwatch. Where the _hell_ had that come from? Still, it had led to an exciting evening, even if the stopwatch had needed some repair afterward.

 _Jack._ He had trembled and cried over Jack’s lifeless body, laid out for days, trying to conceal his anguish from Gwen as she sat vigil…

Ianto drew back sharply from that memory. It had hurt so much to lose Jack then—not only because of their relationship of convenience, or his own undefined feelings, but because Ianto had betrayed the one person in the world he owed his loyalty. Owen may have pulled the trigger, and Abaddon may have drained his life energy, but in his heart it was Ianto’s own treason that had killed Jack.

It had been Ianto’s third betrayal. The first had been Lisa; the second, at the Ferret; the third, in their own Hub. The symbolism hadn’t been lost on him then, and while there was no danger of confusing Jack Harkness with any part of his childhood Sunday School lessons, it had certainly seemed a miracle when Jack finally came back to life. When he’d welcomed Ianto with open arms. Embraced him. Forgiven him.

And then an hour later, was gone again.

Ianto shook away that memory, even more painful than the last. The one thing he could not bear to think about right now was how easily Jack had walked away.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on the page, continuing his list, but the pen fell from his unresponsive fingers. He swore and flung the diary away in frustration. In the end, what use was it, anyway? An ephemeral life recorded in strokes of impermanent ink, on paper that would curl and yellow and crumble to dust while Jack lived on…

Ianto slumped against the wall. He had had fair warning; he had only himself to blame for the hurt he had suffered.

Jack had gone, and when he finally returned after a months-long absence, Ianto had been wary. He had sworn he would protect himself this time, that he wouldn’t become attached, that he would hold Jack at arm’s length. There was no future in clinging to someone who could leave so easily, in building a life with someone for whom life itself was boundless.

 But this new version of Jack hadn’t kept him at a distance. He had seemed wamer, more open, even committed, and Ianto had unwisely let himself believe that there was something more between them.

Clearly, he had been wrong. A few hours earlier, Jack had looked him in the eyes as he lay dying—or dead, or whatever he was—and hadn’t even said goodbye. Ianto had been _so close_ to saying those precious words to Jack, and yet his lover had been more concerned with his alien devices and the time on the stopwatch than with Ianto’s peace of mind or deathbed confessions.

Ianto let out a groan. Perhaps he had misinterpreted their relationship from the beginning. They had first come together for comfort, after all, and maybe for Jack it had never progressed beyond that. Perhaps for Jack, the dates, the romance, the signs of affection were simply an extension of that physical connection, and had never meant anything more.

That went a long way toward explaining why Jack had been cold toward him. Who wanted comfort from a corpse? Why would anyone bestow affection on a mere diversion, once it was of no further use?

He choked back a laugh. And what kind of corpse sat in a morgue, in the dark, alone, trying to analyze his failed dating relationships because he couldn’t bear to face the reality that _he was dead_?

Ianto drew up his knees and dropped his head into his arms, balled up in the corner like a child, and wished he could weep.

* * *

“Go home,” Jack repeated, pushing Toshiko gently toward the exit. “Go on. Get some sleep. You’re no good to me unconscious. Are you safe to drive?”

Toshiko nodded and said something unintelligible through a yawn as she collected her belongings from her workstation. Jack followed her to the lift to make sure she didn’t trip over her heels, wondering if he should have just found a place for her to sleep in the Hub. It was the middle of the night, and he knew none of them had gotten any meaningful rest the night before. Toshiko had been nodding over her reports for the better part of the last hour. Gwen had fallen asleep at her desk an hour before that, and Jack had sent her home in a cab. Jack was as anxious as ever to solve the mystery of the temporal anomaly, as well as Ianto’s resurrection, but his staff couldn’t work without rest.

The cog door ground to a close, and Jack turned to survey the rest of the Hub. That was half his team accounted for. Where were the others?

He heard a faint snore, and followed it across the catwalks to find Owen sprawled at one end of the sofa, pillars of medical texts stacked around his feet. Jack gingerly collected the book splayed open in the doctor’s lap, marked the place, and set it on the cushion beside him.

That left only Ianto—the one Jack was most anxious to see. Jack had been tense and agitated since the shooting the previous night, and something about this temporal anomaly had set him even more on edge. He needed Ianto’s calm presence to settle him. His unique perspective often helped Jack approach tricky problems more efficiently, and the ones they were struggling with now were of the trickiest variety.

More than that, he needed to see Ianto, to touch him, to reassure himself that he was still here. And, Jack admitted with a twinge of shame, he wanted to apologize. He had been curt with him earlier, without cause. It was just something about these rift fluctuations; whatever was jarring the timelines out of place seemed to be gnawing away at his emotional equilibrium with equal vigor…

Suddenly Jack froze, his arms and scalp prickling with awareness. Something was wrong. He glanced up at the security fixtures, but no alarms had been triggered.

He crossed to Toshiko’s workstation and reached for the keyboard to wake the system, and—there it was again. That flash, like vertigo, unbalancing him. Pressure in his ears. A shadow creeping into the edge of his vision.

This… this was familiar, somehow. He knew this shadow. He’d seen it before, hadn’t he?

He felt instinctively that if he tried to focus on it the thing would vanish, so he stayed as he was, hand trembling over the keyboard, eyes fixed at middle distance. The shadow moved in his peripheral vision, resolving into an oblong shape, vaguely humanoid. There was a hiss, like words—not in his ears, but in his mind, speaking in his memory.

The overwhelming _wrongness_ of it struck Jack then, and he braced himself against the back of Toshiko’s chair as a wave of dizziness and nausea passed over him. He hung there for a moment, breathing hard, steadying himself. By the time the sensation passed, the room was back to normal. The shadow, if it had ever truly been there, had vanished.

Jack scrubbed both hands over his face, the grit of stubble against his palms reminding him how long it had been since he’d attended to his own physical needs. The strain must really be getting to him, if he were beginning to see things. Had he eaten today? He certainly hadn’t shaved. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. Usually Ianto was the one who took care of him when he was overwhelmed, bringing him coffee and sandwiches and nagging until he actually ingested them. But Ianto was…

Jack’s eyes fell on the stasis box beside Toshiko’s workstation, and he shivered. No one knew exactly what Ianto was, or what the gauntlet had done to him. Not that Jack was complaining—as far as he was concerned, the glove had performed a miracle, and he was more than willing to accept it at face value—but he needed to know the _how_ , if not the why, for Ianto’s sake as well as their own.

And he couldn’t dedicate all his resources to solving _that_ mystery until he eliminated the one that was more likely to threaten the public at large. With a sigh, Jack accessed Toshiko’s terminal and brought up the latest rift scans. Once this temporal glitch was fixed, Tosh would be free to analyze the glove more fully, and Jack could devote all his time and energy to Ianto. They would discern the inner workings of the glove, find a way to apply the technology to Ianto’s body, restore him to full health, and everything would return to normal.

Just as soon as he could fix time itself.


	3. Sunday I.

_“You need only say the word.” The figure reappeared somewhere off to the left, partially obscured by the fog. “If you refuse, you are condemning them to their fate by your own will.”_

_The cold mist roiled thick about them, obscuring the words carved into the stone._

_“Do I have your agreement?”_

_The single word was uttered almost unwillingly:_ _“Yes.”_

* * *

Owen smoothed the edge of the strip of medical tape and checked the gauze pad a final time. “Okay, all done. You can button up now.”

Ianto began to do up his shirt. “Is there any real advantage to repairing the internal damage, or was this purely an academic exercise?”

The doctor shrugged. “Gotta keep my hand in. I don’t get to suture a heart back together that often.” He stripped his gloves and crossed to the sink to wash. “But mostly, it’s to keep you from falling apart any faster. The tissues won’t heal, but at least this way they’ll stay where they’re supposed to be. Plus,” he added over his shoulder, “less oozing. I know how fond you are of those prissy Savile Row shirts. Be a shame to leak body fluids all over them.”

Ianto scowled back at him as he knotted an expensive-looking silk necktie over an equally expensive-looking pink shirt. Owen couldn’t fathom why any red-blooded man would voluntarily wear pink—but then again it was no secret Jones was shagging their very male boss, so it stood to reason that his fashion sense wasn’t exactly straight, either.

Once he’d finished his ablutions, Owen rinsed the contents of a small tray and dropped it beside Ianto. On it was a ragged star-shaped bit of metal. Two of the arms had broken off and lay beside the larger piece. “Want a souvenir?”

“Not really.” Ianto examined the deformed bullet with an academic interest. “Hollowpoint. He was serious about killing someone.”

“Expansion inflicts maximum damage. Took me a while to find all of it. That bit there was lodged in your shoulder blade.”

“I know. I was awake the whole time you were digging for it, remember? I got the audio commentary.”

“Oh. Right.” Owen hooked his rolling desk chair with a foot and dragged it over near the table where Ianto sat. “Now we need to talk about maintenance.”

“Don’t stay in the sun too long?” Ianto quoted wryly.

“That, and a lot of other things. I’ll work up some way to keep your insides from rotting, but the outside is going to be your responsibility. You’ve got to keep your soft tissues from drying out. Saline and glycerin for the eyes…” He set a small bottle on the table. “Oral dehydration is another big risk. This is a hydrating gelatin solution; you’ll need to rinse with it several times a day.” A second bottle joined the first. “It won’t stop the tissue discoloration, but it should keep your tongue and palate moist enough that you can keep talking.”

“Tissue discoloration?”

“As the blood drains downward in the body, some parts will become more pale. Lips, gums, your overall skin tone… Think vampire.”

“Bela Lugosi, I hope, rather than the sparkly one.”

“I always preferred Christopher Lee, myself.” Owen paused to bare his teeth and crook his fingers in a hideous horror-film pose, then dropped back into his casual bedside manner. “And you know about livor mortis?”

Ianto’s expression soured. “I’ve already experienced the wonders of gravity, yeah.”

Owen nodded. “You’ll need to keep your skin well moisturized, too. Avoid dry environments. Fortunately, we already have a humidifier in the workplace.” He nodded toward the base of the water tower, which could just be heard trickling in the background.

Ianto glanced from the central feature of the Hub to the bottles beside him. “Are you trying to tell me I need daily exposure to water to stay properly hydrated?” His mouth curved in a wry smile. “Believe it or not, Owen, I do shower regularly.”

“Yeah, from now on, don’t.” Owen pushed his swivel chair back to his workstation. “Washing and toweling off speeds up exfoliation—which is good, if you’ve got new skin cells growing all the time. Keeps the skin fresh and healthy. But if you’re dead, you’re just advancing the breakdown of what little skin you’ve got left. Eventually you’ll wear thin like an old leather jacket and start tearing out at the elbows.”

“Your analogies leave something to be desired.”

“Well, it’s as accurate as I can be, mate. What you’ve got, right now, is as good as you’re ever going to have. From here on in, it’s a fight to slow down natural decay and keep you all in one piece. Any damage you do—you scrape your knee, you split a fingernail, you break a bone—it’s _permanent_. You will never regrow those cells, and there is nothing medicine can do to repair necrotic tissue.”

“And that’s what I am.” Ianto’s voice sounded flat. “A walking mass of necrotic tissue. A mobile corpse.”

Owen nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s what you are.” He pitched forward and got to his feet. “And I’ve got to find some way to preserve you.”

It was an interesting problem, to say the least. It was a little easier to think of his teammate in terms of a glorified science project, rather than a patient he’d failed to save. On the other hand, he had no idea where to begin. Not that this was anything new; his medical training hadn’t prepared him for half of what he had to do for Torchwood.

Ianto was no doctor, but Owen knew he was a lot smarter than his pretty-boy appearance led people to believe, and it was clear he had already begun turning over the problem as though it were his own puzzle to solve. “Aren’t there lots of chemical preservatives used to keep tissue samples from degrading?”

“There are, but most of them involve immersion of some kind—not very practical for your situation. And the ones that don’t are pretty vile. I’m pretty sure none of us would like you smelling of embalming fluid.”

Ianto’s eyebrow flicked. “Myself included. What about tocopherols?”

“Toco-what?”

“I believe it’s something to do with Vitamin E. It’s used as a preservative in food products.”

Owen jotted a memo on a sticky note and affixed it to the corner of his monitor. “I’ll have to look into that. Where’d you hear about them?”

Ianto shrugged. “I see it on food packaging when I do the marketing.” He slid off the table and experimentally flexed his limbs. “Things seem to be loosening up nicely.”

“The electrical treatment seems to have worked. Good thing, too, since rigor mortis normally takes a couple of days to wear off.” Owen grinned. “More technology borrowed from food.”

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

The doctor shrugged. “Depends on how you feel about steak.”

“It’s not as though I’m likely to have the chance to enjoy it again.”

“Well, if you get bored, look up how slaughterhouses prevent cold shortening in meat production. That’s what gave me the idea for the modified shock therapy I used on you.”

Ianto looked suitably disgusted. “So, now that I’ve been processed like a side of beef, am I cleared for regular duty?”

Owen rolled his shoulders, stiff after working through most of the night, and smothered a yawn. “You’re cleared for making coffee, so long as you bring me a cup. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s fine to resume doing whatever else it is you do around here all day. But I don’t think Jack wants you leaving the Hub. You’ll have to take it up with him.”

For once, the prospect of persuading Jack didn’t appear to please Ianto. He gazed in the direction of Jack’s office for a moment, a crease forming between his brows, then turned toward the kitchenette. “Right. Coffee it is, then.”

* * *

Gwen tapped on the glass door that nominally separated Jack’s office from the rest of the Hub. She wasn’t sure why he bothered closing it—it wasn’t as though the clear glass provided much privacy, and it did little to prevent eavesdropping, since the far end of his three-walled office opened out onto the main well where the rest of their workstations were located. At best, the door provided the rest of the team with an indication of Jack’s mood, so they could be prepared when they ignored the closed door and bothered him anyway.

Jack called her in, and she steeled herself to face the captain in a foul temper. To her surprise, Jack greeted her with a cordial, if brief, “Morning.” He seemed to be hard at work, poring over the stack of rift activity reports he had asked Toshiko to print for him the night before and annotating them in longhand. Jack and Tosh had still been glued to the monitors past midnight, when Gwen had found herself bundled into a cab and sent home half-asleep to her fiance, whom she had forgotten to call during the whole crisis.

Rhys had been furious about her unexplained absence, until she explained that Ianto had been shot. Rhys had liked Ianto. _Everyone_ had liked Ianto, except perhaps Owen, and even he had appreciated Ianto for his coffee.

Gwen shook her head and corrected herself. She had spent most of the previous day trying to adapt to speaking of Ianto in the past tense, and before she had fully accepted that he was gone, he had returned—sort of. Now she didn’t know how to think of him.

“Gwen. What can I do for you?”

She realized she had been standing silently in front of Jack’s desk for several seconds, and frantically tried to remember why she had come. “Oh! I wanted the update on that anomaly from last night. Tosh said you had taken it over so she could keep working on the, ah, glove thing.” Gwen still hadn’t figured out a comfortable way to refer to Ianto’s resurrection.

Jack swept a hand over his desk to indicate the piles of reports. “Jump in if you think you can swim.”

“What have you found so far?”

“Not much more than we already knew. The abnormal rift energy patterns match the temporal signature from the park. First indication was around thirty-seven hours ago. Levels have been gradually increasing since then.”

“So did anything important happen thirty-seven hours ago?” Jack looked up sharply, and Gwen realized. “Oh, that was when…”

“…We were at the Pharm, yes,” Jack finished. Thirty-seven hours ago, Ianto had been sprawled on the pavement, Owen’s blood-smeared hands pressed to his chest, Martha’s fingers lifting his eyelid, Jack’s tears falling on his pale face as he begged him not to die. The memory drove a tremor down Gwen’s spine. She had been kneeling on Aaron Copley’s shoulder blades after kicking away his semiautomatic, not trusting that Jack’s Webley had taken him completely out of action. Jack had been preoccupied with Ianto at the time, and his aim could well have been off.

It hadn’t, though, because even Jack’s instinctive reactions were deadly. She loved Jack dearly, but sometimes he terrified her even when he wasn’t behind the wheel of the SUV.

Gwen shook the image of two dead bodies from her mind. “So if there were any other alien events at that time, we wouldn’t have been here to spot them.”

“If something came through the rift, it should still have been recorded by the monitoring systems.”

She considered that for a moment. “Unless it was something alien that was already here, and it just happened to activate then. If it came through the rift a long time ago, we might not have tracked it. Some of those alien artifacts Tosh found on eBay have probably been on Earth since before Torchwood was established.”

Jack frowned. “I’m not sure what kind of alien artifact could duplicate a timeline without triggering every alarm we have, but it’s worth checking. Have Tosh run a scan for any other energy signatures, and you can run through Internet auctions for the last month and see if there’s anything we haven’t identified. Failing that, go through the citywide traffic and security cameras from two nights ago and see if anything turns up.”

Gwen smothered a groan. Trolling through eBay listings and grainy images of cars was not how she wanted to spend her day. Besides, Ianto was really so much better at that sort of thing…

She caught herself, and a wave of guilt and grief replaced the frustration. Poor Ianto. And poor everyone else. How would they ever cope? Jack led the team, but Ianto was the glue that kept them all from murdering each other. Or something. She was rubbish at metaphors even on a good day, and today she was definitely not at her best.

Gwen looked at Jack, still buried in his rift reports. Surely she wasn’t the only one feeling emotionally unbalanced in the wake of recent events. “Jack,” she said softly, “are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

This time his eyes flicked up in her direction. “Shouldn’t I be?”

She shrugged. “We’ve all had a bit of a shock, especially you. I mean, your boyfriend just died…”

“He’s not my—” Jack broke off and fixed her with a glare. “Anyway, he’s back. Life goes on.”

Gwen was tempted to point out that it did not, in fact, go on for Ianto, but decided that might be pushing it. “I’m just saying that it would be understandable if you were upset. And it looks like you’ve been working through the night. You haven’t had any rest.”

“I don’t need rest. I’ve told you before, I only sleep recreationally.”

She sighed. “All right. I just… I’m here, if you need to talk, or anything. Just making the offer.”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thanks, but the only thing I really need right now is a cup of coffee.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “For a man who claims not to sleep, you certainly rely a lot on caffeine.”

He stood and turned his back to her, stretching his shoulders as he gazed out the round viewing window into the heart of the Hub. “It’s psychological. Helps me focus.”

“It’s an addiction, is what it is,” Gwen laughed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do about getting you your daily hit. Anything else?” She waited, but Jack was still staring out the window. “Jack?”

He didn’t move. She came around the desk and stood beside him, searching out the window for whatever had caught his attention, but saw nothing unusual. She looked up at his face, and the glazed look in his eyes frightened her. She seized his arm. “Jack!”

He blinked and glanced down at her, his eyes back to their normal sparkling blue. “What?”

“You zoned out. What were you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing, Jack. You were fixated.”

“I was just looking. Thought I saw something, but it was just a shadow.” He turned back to his desk and resumed his seat, but she continued frowning at him. “What? Look for yourself; there’s nothing out there.” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder before diving back into the reports.

Gwen did look, long and hard, but she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary—even a stray shadow. “If you say so,” she muttered, heading for the door.

“Gwen?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

Jack nodded toward the glass panels. “Close the door when you go.”

* * *

Another audible growl sounded from down the stairs. Under normal circumstances this would have been a signal for Toshiko to avoid the autopsy bay, but she suspected that what ailed the beast in his lair was the same thing she had been fighting all morning, and she thought this might be an opportunity worth seizing.

She slipped the emergency box of Viennese sandwiches out of her desk drawer and checked the supply. She had put a healthy dent in them this morning, but there were still four biscuits left—enough of an excuse to go downstairs.

She checked her hair and smoothed her skirt before tucking the box under her arm. She took careful, quiet steps on the stairs, ready to bolt if Owen seemed in too foul a mood, but the doctor was currently slouched at his desk, running his hand through his hair and grumbling under his breath as he scrolled through some page about snack foods. _No wonder the beast is hungry_ , she thought.

“I don’t want artificial sweeteners,” he muttered. “I want preservatives. Who designed this bloody navigation bar, anyway?”

He seemed irate enough that Toshiko considered sneaking back up the stairs, but then she shook her head. She had finally worked up the courage to ask him out two days ago, and that had gone better than anticipated, even if their date had been indefinitely delayed by Torchwood-related emergencies. She couldn’t turn coward now.

Toshiko straightened her spine and held the box in front of her like a shield. “Care for a biscuit, Owen?”

Owen’s head whipped around so quickly she was afraid he would fall out of his swivel chair, but he recovered and reached for the box. “Thanks, Tosh. I’m starving.”

“I thought you might be. Ianto usually brings something in midmorning, but since he’s…” She licked her lips. “Anyway, I was getting hungry, too.”

Owen’s answer was an inarticulate sound filtered through a mouthful of crumbs. He continued typing as Toshiko pulled over another chair, then groaned at whatever results had come up in his search. “’Uddy ‘oogle,” he mumbled.

Toshiko cleared her throat. “Anything I can help with?”

Owen took the time to swallow before responding. “Know anything about chemical preservatives?”

“Only that I try to buy foods without a lot of them.” She glanced down at the incriminating box of biscuits. “Usually.”

If Owen had noticed her hypocrisy, he didn’t mention it. “I’m trying to find some way to keep Ianto’s body from deteriorating, but nobody has ever tried to keep a corpse _mobile_ before. Lots of things I can use if I’m willing to dehydrate him, or pickle him in a jar.”

Now _that_ was a mental image she didn’t need. “I don’t think Jack would like that very much.”

“I don’t think Ianto would like it at all.” Owen reached for another biscuit. “I’d like to find something relatively non-toxic to the rest of us, but short of mummifying him or steeping him in formaldehyde, I’m not finding a lot of options.” He squinted at the screen. “Did you know they used to preserve taxidermied animals with arsenic? It’s a wonder the human race lasted this long.”

Toshiko prised a bit of chocolate out of a corner of the packaging with a fingernail. “You worked here all night, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“If you need to take a break, I could do some research for you. I mean, I can use Google as well as the next girl.”

“Nah, I’m okay. I kipped on the sofa for a couple hours. Besides, isn’t Jack anxious to get the results on that glove?”

Toshiko gave in and took a bite of one of the remaining sweets. “Anxious isn’t even the word for it. He even took me off the Rift anomalies to work on it. But my new scanner oscillation code is compiling right now, so I have a few minutes.” She held out the package with the last biscuit, which Owen took with a nod of thanks. She waited until he was chewing contentedly to make her next observation. “You’ve been treating him differently, since it happened. Ianto, I mean.”

Owen’s shoulders tensed. “Just trying to take care of my patient.”

She shook her head. “It’s different. You’ve never done this before, with any of us.”

“Well, none of you were ever dead,” Owen snapped. Then he reconsidered. “Well, except Jack. But he always refuses treatment anyway.”

Toshiko drew a deep breath. She had come here to say it, and she might as well get it over with. “It wasn’t your fault, Owen.”

His shoulders hitched higher. “Of course it wasn’t my fault. That bastard Copley shot him point-blank, and the bullet put a gash in Ianto’s heart the length and diameter of my thumb. Martha and I did the best we could, but we couldn’t have saved him, not in a bloody car park with no equipment.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Of course.”

“Then why have you been looking at him like you want to apologize?”

Owen’s jaw tightened. “I’ve never treated a dead patient before. It’s a little unnerving.”

“I’ve seen you unnerved. This isn’t it.” She reached over to touch his arm, which was tense and quivering. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s awful that he died, but it really wasn’t your fault.”

The doctor’s eyes shifted toward her, then back to the floor. He seemed to be weighing something. At last he murmured, “I don’t know, Tosh. Maybe things could have been different.”

Toshiko tried to meet his gaze, but he had turned away again. “Different, how?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Owen, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. What’s wrong?”

He sat very still for a long time. When he spoke, his words were almost inaudible. “I think it should have been me.”

She hadn’t expected that from Owen. And certainly not about Ianto, of all people. “Owen, people often feel that way after someone dies. It’s survivor’s guilt. It doesn’t mean—”

“This isn’t survivor’s guilt, Tosh,” he snapped. “I’ve been there, I’ve done that. I went through all that and then some with Katie.”

Toshiko blinked. “Who is Katie?”

He shook his head. “Anyway, I know all about survivor’s guilt, and this isn’t it. Something is _wrong_ here. It should’ve been me.”

She bit her lip. This was completely unlike Owen, and it was beginning to scare her. “What would make you say that?”

“Because I saw it.” Owen ran a hand through his short hair. “I saw it happening. It was like… like deja vu, or some kind of alternate reality, or something.” His voice was trembling, and Toshiko saw his eyes glaze over as he relived the moment. “I saw Copley’s gun aimed right at me. I saw myself get shot. Only when I looked down at the ground, it wasn’t me lying there, it was Ianto.”

“Owen, everything happened so fast that night… Your mind probably just anticipated one possible outcome, and it seemed very real in the moment. But Copley aimed his gun at Martha, and Ianto stepped right in front of her. Everyone saw it happen.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, Tosh. I saw it happen, too. I got shot, I died, and then the _exact same thing_ happened to Ianto.” He shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. We see a lot of weird shit happen in this job, but when it comes down to it…”

Toshiko remained silent through his tirade. How should one respond in a situation like this? Should she tell the others what Owen had seen, or would that be a breach of Owen’s fledgling and hard-won confidence? Should she reassure Owen, try to convince him that he had only imagined the nightmare?

Eventually, he seemed to run out of words. He stared hard at his keyboard, face flushed. “Doesn’t matter, anyway,” he muttered. “Ianto’s dead, I’m not. Nothing I can do to change that.”

“I don’t know what I would have done if it had been you,” Toshiko said quietly. Owen looked over at her in surprise, and she panicked. “What any of us would have done, I mean. After all, you’re our medic. We wouldn’t even have been able to treat your wounds.”

“Martha could have,” Owen replied, but his expression remained soft, and Tosh had the feeling he knew what she had meant the first time.

“Tosh?” Gwen’s voice floated down from above. A moment later, she appeared at the top of the stairs. “Oh, there you are. Jack has a project for us, if you’ve got a break from the glove.”

“In a minute,” called Toshiko. She couldn’t leave Owen like this, not when he was clearly in distress, and not when he was just beginning to trust her…

“You’d better go,” Owen said, pushing to his feet and moving to another bank of equipment. “It might be important.”

Toshiko hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the captain,” Owen muttered, but he glanced over again before she left. “Thanks, Tosh. For the biscuits.”

She felt her face warm, and smiled. “Any time. I always keep some at my desk. Feel free to stop by.”

Owen returned the smile. “I just might do that.”


	4. Sunday II.

“Jack?”

Jack glanced up from a stack of paperwork and straightened. “Ianto Jones.”

Ianto hefted Jack’s favorite mug, white stoneware with blue stripes. “Gwen said you could use a cup of coffee.”

“Gwen was not wrong.” Jack stood and stretched, then came around the desk to accept the cup. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Jack sipped the rich brew and made a noise of appreciation that bordered on indecent. “Ianto, have I ever told you that your coffee is amazing?”

Ianto thought for a moment. “Only one hundred and forty-three times, sir.”

“Well, let’s make it an even gross. Your coffee is amazing.” Jack grinned and took another sip.

Ianto tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. Coffee delivered, he should really leave. Ianto had done a lot of thinking overnight, and had come to a lot of logical conclusions, but his heart still needed time to catch up to his intellect before facing Jack. He really didn’t want to have a conversation with Jack—not with the memory of his indifference in the autopsy bay so fresh.

He was just turning away when an untidy stack of files caught his eye. As he automatically reached over to straighten them, his eyes traveled beyond to Jack’s desk, half-buried in rift reports and sticky notes. He hesitated, fingers lingering on the file folders as he squared up the corners. By all indications Jack was seriously overworked at the moment, while Ianto had been stewing with boredom all morning. If he hung around, perhaps Jack would give him something to do. After all, whatever had happened between them personally, Ianto still had a duty to Torchwood. And he _hated_ being bored—particularly, he had discovered overnight, when he could no longer nap or eat to fill the time.

“So.” Jack hitched a hip onto the desk, clearing a space to one side to set his cup. “How are things going with you and Owen?”

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “Are you inquiring as to our interpersonal relationship, or the progress of his research?”

“The latter. Though if you and Owen have suddenly developed a thing…”

“Last I checked the earth was still spinning on its axis, so no,” Ianto replied dryly. “No breakthroughs to report, I’m afraid. He’s running lots of tests, but we’re still basically looking at a lot of guesswork and theories without any hard data.” He watched Jack’s eyes track his face, analyzing the visible changes in his condition, and tried not to squirm under the close scrutiny. At least the conversation was technical, rather than personal. He’d had months of practice shielding his feelings behind a wall of professionalism.

“No change in the glove or its output?”

“Nothing discernible. And having it in or out of stasis seems to have no effect. Toshiko is still trying to isolate that radiation signature.”

Jack took another pull from his mug before his eyes flicked back to Ianto’s face. “And how are you, Ianto?”

Had Ianto’s heart still been beating, it would have lurched into his throat. As it was, he barely succeeded in keeping his expression neutral. Those words, spoken by Jack, had once marked a milestone in his life. That Jack would use them again now seemed almost cruel—unintentionally so, he was sure, but that didn’t ease the sting. If anything, it only showed Jack’s ignorance of the significance Ianto had placed on that pivotal conversation.

But Ianto had played the consummate professional under far more painful circumstances, and he refused to let the facade slip. “I’m fine, sir. Well, apart from the obvious. No change there. Still dead, according to all tests.”

Jack’s brow crinkled. “Except you’re clearly not.”

“I clearly am. The fact that I’m conscious doesn’t alter my physiological state. It’s like that famous line: ‘Men are not bodies and have souls, but are souls and have bodies.’”

Jack concentrated for a moment. “C. S. Lewis?”

“Thornton, actually. Frequently misquoted and attributed to Lewis.” Jack shook his head in appreciation of Ianto’s apparently boundless knowledge, and Ianto decided not to add that he’d Googled the quote in the middle of the night as he tried to come to terms with his unique state of existence. “In any case, my soul is apparently still here, even though my body has expired.”

Jack looked him over thoughtfully. “So if your body is dead, how are you still moving it around?”

“Best guess?” Ianto shrugged. “Some kind of residual psychic connection between mind and flesh.”

“You mean like telekinesis?”

He nodded. “It’s just a theory, but it’s the only one that explains why my body functions _only_ at will. I can still perform discreet muscle contractions, motor skills, things I had voluntary control over, before I… before. But this?” He reached back to tap the base of his skull. “Anything involuntary, anything controlled by the brain stem, is inoperative. Autonomic function, heartbeat, respiration, reflex actions. All gone.”

Jack frowned. “But you’re breathing.”

“I’m _speaking_. Deliberately forcing air through my vocal cords to produce sound. But there’s no true respiration, no oxygen exchange in my lungs. When I’m not talking I don’t remember to inhale. There’s simply no need.”

Jack leaned back against the desk, the creases between his brows deepening as he turned this over in his mind. “But you’re still conscious, and capable of rational thought. And if you’re thinking, there has to be some kind of brain function, right?”

“Not that Owen can detect. No brain waves or neural activity. Owen also can’t explain exactly how my muscles are contracting without electrical impulse, but the EMG shows nothing. Hypothalamus is no good, either. I’ve no metabolism to regulate.” Ianto placed the back of his hand against Jack’s forearm, and Jack flinched. “I’m guessing I’m around room temperature by now, yeah?”

Jack placed his hand atop Ianto’s and flashed a grin, though it was less bright than his usual efforts. “I’m sure I could find a way to warm you up.”

“Jack.” Ianto withdrew his hand. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Basic thermodynamics. We cuddle up real close, my body heat passes to you…”

Ianto took a step backward. “I’m serious, Jack.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Jack crossed his arms and scowled up at him. “You were a lot more fun before you got shot.”

It was too much. The indifference over his fate, the casual proposition, the mounting evidence that he had been nothing more than a physical diversion to Jack… Ianto’s cool demeanor began to crack. “Yes, I was,” he snapped. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. I am _dead_ , Jack. I can’t eat or drink, I’ve no saliva, no tears, no pulse. I’ve no biological functions _whatsoever_.” He shot a significant look at Jack’s trousers. “Even if your engaging in necrophilia weren’t a disturbing enough thought, it would be a distinctly one-sided activity. I no longer have the ability to participate.”

Jack stood and reached for Ianto. “Hey, calm down. That doesn’t mean we can’t still—”

“It does, Jack. Whatever was between us, it’s over now.”

The words fell between them like a thunderclap, silencing all else. Ianto hadn’t meant for the declaration to slip out quite the way it had. He’d been working up to it since his realization the previous evening, but had hoped to find a more elegant way to present it. Still, it was a relief to have the truth out in the open.

Jack’s arms had fallen to his sides; now his fingers curled slowly into fists. “Is that all we are, to you?” he breathed at last. “A _biological function_? You can’t have your fun, so you’re through with me?”

The irony was palpable, and Ianto bit back a laugh at Jack’s outrage. “Look who’s concerned about fun. You’re the one chatting up a corpse. If you’re that desperate for action, I could recommend a couple of bars along St. Mary Street. The bodies there will be warmer than mine, I assure you.”

Jack drew back, his face taut. “I didn’t realize I… we… meant so little to you.”

This time Ianto couldn’t suppress the laugh, though it emerged as an hysterical yelp. “Since when did you care what you meant to me?”

Jack stared at him. “I’ve always cared. I thought… I thought…”

The words were bitter and angry and wrong, but too much pressure had built behind them, and Ianto let fly. “You thought I would always be there for your convenience. You thought I would come running to your bed whenever you called, because I was besotted with you.”

“No! I thought…” There were tears building in Jack’s eyes, which only set off the blue and made his gaze more striking. Damn it, that wasn’t playing fair. What kind of man was attractive even when he cried? Ianto gritted his teeth and reminded himself that the tears weren’t for him. If Jack had cared that much about him, he would have shown some distress when Ianto lay dying in his hands. This was nothing more than Jack’s stung pride. _He always has to be dramatic_ , Ianto thought bitterly.

After a few seconds of staring Jack looked away, and as Ianto watched the shutters came down, locking his emotions behind the steel wall labeled _captain_. “I thought you cared about me,” he said, his voice as expressionless as his face. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t you _dare_.” Ianto squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn’t hold the words back, but he couldn’t bear to look at Jack while he spoke them. “Don’t even suggest that I didn’t give you everything I had to give. Don’t you dare imagine that losing you isn’t destroying whatever is left of me.”

Jack’s voice remained flat. “Funny way you have of showing it.”

“It’s not as though I was given any choice in the matter.”

“Oh, like all the choice you just gave me?”

“Fine.” Ianto stalked close, leaning in to him until he was certain Jack would feel the temperature of his body through his shirt. “Is this what you want, Jack? A lover who can’t please you? A cold, lifeless body to chill your bed? Could you honestly be satisfied with that?”

To Jack’s credit, he did not pull away. “You may find it hard to believe,” he replied evenly, “but I do place value on more than just sex.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Right. I’d forgotten about our many long nights of intellectual conversation, uninterrupted by any kind of physical intimacy. Remind me again what we discussed?”

Jack scowled. “You’re not being fair.”

“No, Jack. Unfair would be expecting you to carry on as though nothing has changed.” Ianto turned away. “Unfair would be asking you to stay with me, to pretend, just to spare my feelings. I’m only being realistic. Things are different now.”

“They don’t have to be.” Jack seized his arm. “Ianto, don’t do this to me. I need you.”

It was so tempting to take his words at face value, but Ianto knew what he really meant. “What you need, I’m no longer able to provide.” He gently detached Jack’s fingers from his sleeve. “But you needn’t worry. You won’t have any trouble finding a replacement.”

“A _replacement?_ ”

Ianto rolled his eyes again. “You’ve never suffered a shortage of interested parties, Jack. We both know you could have someone new in your bed within hours, if not minutes.”

Something bright and almost desperate flared in Jack’s eyes. “Is that what this is about? Ianto, there hasn’t been anyone else. I know we never really talked about being exclusive, but ever since I came back…”

“It really doesn’t matter.” It did, though; it was gratifying to know that Jack had been satisfied with their relationship, even if he hadn’t been as emotionally invested as Ianto. “You can do as you like, from now on.”

“I don’t know how you can just… end this.”

“I’m not ending anything, Jack. It’s already over, and there’s no reason for us to go on pretending otherwise. You know that as well as I do.”

“I don’t!” Jack burst, real confusion scribed on his face. Ianto wondered if this were the first time someone had walked away from Jack Harkness. It would certainly explain his dramatic reaction. Perhaps he was used to making his own farewell speeches, and couldn’t accept it coming from someone else. “I don’t understand. Why are you pushing me away like this?”

“Because it’s for the best,” Ianto sighed. “For both of us.” Even as he spoke the words, they scratched at his soul. But it was true: Jack could happily carry on with the next poor sap to fall for his fifty-first-century pheromones and charming smile, while Ianto… Ianto would be free of his illusions, his false hopes. Free to face crushing reality on his own.

Jack stared at him for a long, heavy moment. “This is really what you want?”

It was the farthest thing imaginable from what Ianto really wanted, but things could hardly go on as they had before. Not now that he was dead. Not now that he knew just how much he meant—or didn’t—to Jack. “It’s the way it has to be,” he managed at last.

Jack turned away, and Ianto took that as a dismissal. He silently fled the office, feeling as though he left shards of his unbeating heart behind with every step.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Gwen again knocked on the glass door. “Jack?”

Jack didn’t answer, and she stepped fully into the office to find him. He was slouched over his desk, forehead propped against one hand. The papers on his desk didn’t seem to have moved much since she’d left him earlier in the day, so perhaps he’d indulged in a much-needed nap. Poor thing; she almost felt bad waking him. “Jack?” she tried again.

“Heard you the first time. You gonna tell me what you want, or just stand there repeating my name until doomsday?”

Gwen drew back at his sharp tone. “I… Tosh has something on the sensors. Another anomaly. She thinks you should see it.”

Jack straightened, but kept his red-rimmed eyes fixed on the desk. “I’ll be right there.”

Gwen retreated from the lion’s den and joined Ianto and Toshiko at the latter’s workstation, pulling a face and nodding back toward Jack’s office in a silent warning. Toshiko frowned, but made sure all the displays were up and ready before Jack could ask for them.

When Jack appeared a moment later, he had smoothed a few of the the ragged edges Gwen had seen in his office, though there was still a shadow beneath his eyes. “What have you got, Tosh?”

“Another anomaly. Or possibly the same one, just spreading to a new location.” She tapped a readout on the screen. “This is the one you and Gwen investigated last night. And this one,” she moved her finger to another graph, “started a few hours ago. Small, at first; such minor fluctuations that the system didn’t detect it right away. But it’s growing, just like the first one.”

Jack’s frown deepened. “Where is it?”

Toshiko toggled windows to bring up a map. “Near Radyr.”

Ianto leaned forward over her shoulder. “That’s near my flat.”

“It’s all around your flat,” Toshiko confirmed. “It’s a relatively small area, just a few blocks, but it seems these anomalies have the potential to spread. It’s almost like the epicenter of an earthquake.”

Gwen squinted at the mapped area on the screen. “It’s not shaped like one, though, is it? It looks more like an amoeba or something.”

“No, there’s no symmetry at all. There are tiny ripples that push little directional fingers of the anomaly out into the rest of the city. It seems random, but I’m trying to work out if there’s a pattern.”

“How far back did it start?” Ianto asked. “I can’t remember anything out of the ordinary happening, but…”

Jack turned abruptly back toward his office. “I’ll check it out.”

Ianto took a step after him, then hesitated. “Do you want me to come along? I know the area, I could…”

Jack never broke stride. He disappeared into his office and reappeared a moment later wearing his greatcoat. Gwen expected him to collect Ianto on his way to the SUV, but he brushed past them without another word.

“Jack?” Gwen called after him. “Do you want one of us to…”

“I don’t need you!” Jack snapped. He glanced back at her and scowled. “Don’t you have work to do?”

A sharp retort sprang to her lips, but Gwen withheld it when she saw the look on Ianto’s face as he watched Jack’s retreating back.

Gwen returned quietly to her workstation and pulled up another batch of CCTV footage. Jack was tired, and he was hurting, and she was human enough to forgive him one day’s nastiness. And though it pained her to see Ianto look so heartbroken, she had long ago sworn off meddling in Jack and Ianto’s personal affairs. She suspected there was more between them than they let on, anyway. Their relationship could likely survive a few bumps, the same way she and Rhys managed.

But come tomorrow, Jack Harkness had better improve his attitude, or he would have a _lot_ of making up to do.

* * *

Jack pressed the pedal to the floor with unnecessary force as he cut across town, instinctively following the route he used on the nights he stayed over at Ianto’s. Rain-soaked buildings whipped by in the twilight, too fast to identify. He slammed on the brakes and swerved around a sedan that had failed to clear out of the path of the blue lights fast enough, then gunned the engine again.

Jack snarled at the nameless shapes flashing by the window, resisting the temptation to ram the SUV into one of them. It would be irresponsible of him to plow through a line of civilian traffic or run over a row of parked cars, but he really, _really_ felt like smashing something. Hopefully there would be something physical at the heart of this anomaly. Something he could punch. Repeatedly.

He whipped around another tight corner, tires squealing on the wet pavement. Maybe he’d go hunt up a Weevil when this was over. Hell, maybe he’d go down in the sewers after them. He could do with some exercise, after sitting in his office all day—

At the thought of his office, his grip tightened on the wheel. _Whatever was between us, it_ _’s over now._

Tires shrieked as a van on a cross street skidded to a halt a hand’s breadth from the driver’s side door, and the near miss pulled Jack back to the present. He flexed his fingers, focusing on the task at hand. Stress relief would have to wait; there was work to be done. He switched on his earpiece and waited for it to click through to the Hub. “So where am I headed, exactly?”

Toshiko’s voice hummed over the connection. “You’re close. The anomaly doesn’t cover a very large area. I’m sending the location through to the SUV now.”

Jack glanced down at the GPS screen just as it lit up with a green cloud, clustered like precipitation on a weather map over a few blocks in Radyr. He slowed and turned down a side street toward the nearest branch of the cloud.

Immediately he felt an unsettling sense of _deja vu_ , though he couldn’t place why this narrow street seemed so familiar. Then in a flash of the SUV’s headlights he recognized the boarded-up shell of what had once been a pub. The Ferret. Memories bombarded him again—Mandy. The Saviour. Ianto’s betrayal. Torture. Death. Gasping back to life on an alien planet, inexplicably cradled in Ianto’s protective embrace—and he stomped the brake, bringing the vehicle to a screaming halt against the curb. He slammed his fist against the dashboard and surrendered to the pain, his breath hissing in his throat.

Toshiko’s concern bled through the tinny speaker. “Jack, what’s happened?” She waited for a response, which he was in no state to give. “Jack? Are you all right?”

Jack bent all his mental effort on controlling his breathing. “Just getting my bearings,” he said when he could speak without panting.

Apart from a significant _hmph_ to let him know she didn’t believe him, Toshiko remained silent. He was grateful for that kindness; he knew he would have taken it out on her if she’d pressed, and he would have regretted that. It wasn’t Tosh’s fault that his world was coming apart.

 _Whatever was between us, it_ ' _s over now._

The words replayed again, his mind’s needle trapped in the groove of that memory. Ianto had ended things with him. Ianto, whom he trusted above all others. Ianto, who had accepted him when no one else would. Ianto, who had stepped into the rift, fought aliens and monsters, and literally _gone to hell_ for him. Who only last week had held his hand like a nervous teenager as they walked through the city centre on their way to dinner.

It had taken a nightmare experience in his own personal hell for Jack to realize the depth of his feelings for Ianto, and while he wasn’t ready to profess his love aloud, he knew his heart was already committed to the path of eventual loss and heartbreak that ended all his relationships. No matter how tightly Jack clung to him, he knew Ianto would someday grow old and pass beyond the veil Jack could not penetrate. But that parting should have been decades away, a separation wrought slowly by time and age, something Jack could prepare for. Not this sudden break, a wedge driven between them by… by _what?_

Jack had been convinced that Ianto loved him. He’d never said it in so many words—there were so many things they’d never said; they didn’t talk half as much as they should—but it was there in his actions, his looks, the way he intuitively cared for Jack’s needs. Had that had all been an elaborate deception? Ianto had deceived them all with Lisa; could the tender, affectionate Ianto he’d grown close to merely be another facade, designed to gain Jack’s confidence?

No; Ianto had seemed nearly as devastated as Jack as he pushed him away. Even such a superlative dissembler as Ianto Jones couldn’t have feigned that kind of heartbreak. Could he?

Or perhaps there was something more sinister at work. Could the resurrection gauntlet be responsible for this sudden turnabout? It had warped Suzie’s conscience beyond recognition; could it have corrupted Ianto as well?

“Jack?” Toshiko’s voice prompted, and Jack clenched his fist tightly, using the pain in his hand to focus. As always, Torchwood came first. He would have to sort out his personal disasters later.

He slid the SUV into gear and eased back onto the road, more watchful of traffic now that he was driving one-handed. He hoped his split knuckles would heal before he returned to the Hub. Or perhaps he’d find something else to punch before then, and could blame the injury on combat. “I’m about to cross into the affected area,” he said to fill the silence, though he knew Toshiko was tracking his progress on the monitors. “Anything interesting in the readings?”

“Not really. A few minor flickers. Tiny fluctuations, barely enough to register.”

“Doesn’t look much more exciting from this end,” Jack muttered. He drove half a block farther, then had to brake suddenly for a cyclist crossing the road. The bicycle swerved and nearly toppled before the cyclist waved in apology and hustled to the opposite sidewalk, glancing back at the SUV with wide eyes.

“Did something just happen?” Toshiko asked.

Jack snorted. “Nearly ran over an idiot on a bike who rolled right out into the road. I’ve got all the lights on; it’s not as though he couldn’t see me coming.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Just a little blip in the readings on this end. Nothing major.” He heard her smother a yawn. “Sorry. You should be coming up on the epicenter of the anomaly in another block or so.”

Jack searched the sidewalks for anything out of the ordinary as he navigated the familiar street, but saw only a trace of fog tossing back the SUV’s bright lights. Out of habit he pulled into the corner space where he always parked and cut the engine. “I don’t see anything unusual.”

“Me, either,” Toshiko replied. “Maybe it’s indoors?”

Jack exited the vehicle and crossed the street, looking up at the dimly-lit silhouette of the building that housed Ianto’s flat. Lights in fluorescent-bulb white or television blue flickered behind a few of the shades, but there was absolutely nothing extraordinary to be seen. He let his eyes wander up to the first-floor corner window, which was dark and desolate. He shivered.

A part of him knew he should ask if Ianto wanted anything brought from his flat, as long as Jack was here. Confined to the Hub without even a change of clothes, Ianto would be climbing the walls by now. He’d hinted as much by asking to accompany Jack here, obviously hoping he could stop off at home along the way. Jack knew he should offer, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. After all, hadn’t Ianto made it clear this morning that he wanted nothing more to do with Jack?

_Whatever was between us, it's over now._

Jack clenched his throbbing hand and let the pain steady him. His eyes swept the building again, and for an instant he saw it as it had been the last time he had stood here—soft light beaming from Ianto’s corner flat, shades thrown open because Ianto knew Jack liked the view of the distant city lights. But as soon as he blinked, the vision was gone, the windows dark and the cold mist creeping ever closer.

Jack swore under his breath. This thing with Ianto had knocked him right off his game; he was getting lost in his imagination. He flicked his comm back on. “Tosh, are you getting anything worthwhile?”

“More of the same. Little flickers here and there. Nothing significant.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything here to find,” Jack said, making his way to the end of the block. “I think it’s like the park yesterday. It’s a symptom of something, but whatever triggered it isn’t on site.”

“So how do we find what triggered it?”

“I’m not sure.” He scowled up at another row of flats on the next block, just as innocuous and domestic as the first. “Maybe we don’t have enough data to isolate it yet.”

Through the earpiece he heard the faint clicking of Toshiko’s keyboard. “It looks like there are a couple more similar anomalies scattered across the city, only they’re _tiny_. Barely registering. I suppose we could wait and see if they grow like this one.”

“Well, whatever’s going on here, it doesn’t seem to be doing any harm. I guess there’s no problem leaving it for the moment.”

“I’ll keep monitoring it. The readings from the one in the park have been steadily increasing in activity, but nothing seems to have come of it so far. I’ve been monitoring internet and police activity, and so far the only hits for that area are a lost dog and a couple of minor traffic collisions.”

“Doesn’t sound like anything significant.” Jack turned back toward the SUV—

—And promptly collided with two men in the middle of the sidewalk. One reeled back with a cry of surprise and landed on his plump backside. The other recovered more quickly, and immediately rounded on Jack. “Oi! ‘Ave a care, mate. You berr’ wa…” He hiccuped. “Watch where you’re goin’!”

Jack cringed at the reek of stale alcohol. As much as he felt like punching something, he really didn’t want to deal with the quantity of whiskey-induced vomit an altercation with these two would likely produce. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. He watched the fallen man flail helplessly for a moment, then reached down and hauled him to his feet by the back of his collar. The man’s face tinged green for a moment, and Jack stepped out of sick range.

Clutching each other for support, the inebriated pedestrians wove unsteadily past him. “Din’t see ‘m at all,” the first man muttered to his companion. “Not _that_ pissed, am I?”

“Nah, bloke came out o’ nowhere,” slurred the other. “Not your fault.”

Jack ground his teeth as he watched them totter on. “This is useless. I’m heading back to the Hub.”

“Already?” Toshiko’s voice trilled in his ear. “There was another little blip near you just now…”

“Scratch that. I’m going to swing around the city first, see if there’s any trouble. We’ve been too busy to check the Weevil hot spots the last few days. Might as well do it while I’m out.”

“But don’t you think we should wait and see if the anomaly…”

“No,” he said firmly. “There’s nothing for us here.”

Jack turned his back on Ianto’s flat, hating how prophetic his words sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events Jack recalls in this chapter take place in the Big Finish audio drama _Broken_ and the BBC audio novel _In The Shadows_ , both written by Joseph Lidster.


	5. Monday I.

_“I can change the past.”_

_“Nothing can change the past. ”_

_“You need only say the word.” The hooded figure drifted back into view, but the fog was making it difficult to gauge distances. “If you refuse, you are condemning them to their fate by your own will.”_

_The mist roiled thick about them, obscuring the name carved into the stone, until it faded to a shadow._

_“You must choose to accept my offer. Do I have your agreement?”_

_The voice cracked on the single word:_ _“Yes.”_

* * *

Sarah Jane Smith placed two slices of slightly overdone toast on a plate before shouting upstairs. “Luke! You’d better hurry, or you’ll be late for school.”

A moment later her son trotted down the stairs, school books tucked under one arm. “Mum?” he called.

“There you are! Breakfast is ready. What have you been up to all morning?”

Luke dropped his books on the table, his eyes shining with excitement. “It’s Mr. Smith. He’s been saying something about a temporal anomaly.”

Sarah Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, then. Better check it out, hadn’t I?” Luke grinned and started to bolt for the stairs. “Ah-ah, not you! You eat your breakfast. I’ll go.”

“But mum—”

“No buts. You have school.” She pointed to the table and watched Luke slump sullenly into his seat before hurrying to the stairs herself.

“Mr. Smith?” she called breathlessly as she entered the cluttered attic space. “What’s this about an anomaly?”

“Good morning, Sarah Jane,” intoned the semi-mechanical voice of the Xylok. “I have detected some abnormal energy patterns in Llanedeyrn, Radyr, and Saint Mellons, all districts of Cardiff, Wales.” A map of the city appeared on the oversized screen.

“Cardiff? That’s a bit outside our usual range.” She frowned. “Are you sure it isn’t just the rift acting up?”

“These readings are not consistent with rift energy patterns,” Mr. Smith continued. “I have detected energy surges indicating some kind of temporal distortion, but I am unable to identify the cause.”

“Well, I’m not sure what we can do about it from here,” Sarah Jane sighed. “I’d rather not leave town during the school week to investigate. I suppose the best thing to do is to notify Torchwood of your findings.”

“Torchwood is aware of the anomaly. Two Torchwood operatives investigated the Llanedeyrn occurrence approximately thirty-six hours ago, and one visited Radyr approximately fourteen hours ago. As yet I have detected no investigation at Saint Mellons.”

“If Torchwood is handling it, why are you telling me about it? You know I don’t like to get involved with their operations.”

Mr. Smith’s voice assumed a haughtier tone. “Because by all indications, Torchwood has failed to address the anomaly,” he said. “Also, traffic cameras recorded them engaging in reckless driving, and their vehicle was observed to be parked illegally in at least four separate locations.”

Sarah Jane laughed. “I didn’t know you shared my low opinion of Torchwood, Mr. Smith. Though in my case, it has more to do with their policies on alien treatment than with how well they follow traffic laws.” She shook her head. “Well, why don’t you keep an eye on this, and if it seems to be getting worse, we’ll send it over to UNIT. It’s not really their area, either, but I’d really prefer to avoid any personal entanglements with Torchwood.”

“As you wish, Sarah Jane.” With a hiss of compressed air, Mr. Smith began to retreat into the wall.

“There’s no need to be sullen about it,” she chuckled. “Now, I’d best see that Luke gets out the door on time, or we’ll both be late.”

* * *

Gwen leaned back and rubbed her eyes. “That’s it. Since lunchtime yesterday, I’ve looked at one thousand, three hundred and twenty-one auction listings and skimmed through approximately eighty-nine hours of security and traffic cam footage from all over Cardiff. My eyes are officially staging a revolt.”

At the next workstation, Toshiko stretched her arms over her head. “And I’m not getting anywhere with the expanded scans on the glove. It emits absolutely _nothing_ when it’s not activated. I think I’ll start that new scanner code debugging, and then it’s time for a break.” She glanced around. “Have you seen Ianto? Maybe we could persuade him to make us some coffee.”

“Last I saw, he was still with Owen.” Gwen pushed her chair back and crossed to the autopsy bay, where she hung over the observation railing. “How’s it going down there?”

Ianto, shirtless and with a stark bandage taped over the left side of his chest, glanced up. “Owen’s just been mummifying me.”

“I am not,” the doctor snapped, setting down his syringe. “Trying to do the opposite, in fact.”

Toshiko appeared to Gwen’s left. “Ooh, did you finally find something that would do the trick?”

“Maybe. It’s a gelatinized silica/polymer nanocomposite with a hydrophilic organic binder.”

Gwen blinked. “Owen, you’re starting to sound like Tosh. What exactly does that do, in English?”

Owen was trying to tear open the corner of a packet using his teeth, so Ianto answered for him. “Controlled desiccation. If I’m understanding correctly, it will still attract the moisture in my body, but unlike drying agents like saline, this _should_ reinforce the cell walls instead of allowing them to collapse.” He glanced at the line of syringes beside him on the table. “In theory.”

“And if it doesn’t,” Owen added, finally having conquered the packet seal, “we can try something else. This process is reversible, by flushing the polymer out with a solvent.”

“Partly reversible. Again, in theory.” Ianto shrugged the shoulder that was away from Owen and his needles. “Though I suppose it’s not exactly life-threatening, either way. One advantage to being dead, the side effects of experimental medicine aren’t much of a concern.”

Toshiko descended the stairs to stand beside Ianto, keeping her eyes well away from the disconcerting purple patches down his back. Hopefully Owen’s treatments could do something about the livor mortis, as well. “I have to say, you’re taking this well,” she said, after watching Owen work for a moment. “Doesn’t it bother you, what’s happened?”

Ianto looked down at his hands. “Of course it does. But I had my big existential crisis the first night, and now I just have to focus on what I can do.” He picked at a chipped fingernail with his thumb. “It’s not as though throwing a tantrum now will change anything.”

“You always were the practical one,” Gwen said admiringly. “I wish there were something we could do to help.”

Toshiko gingerly took Ianto’s hand and examined it, then smiled up at Gwen. “I think there may be. We were going to take a break anyway, weren’t we?”

* * *

Toshiko did her best not to flinch every time she touched Ianto’s frigid flesh. Not only would it be rude, but it would probably smudge the gel coat she was brushing onto his fingernails. “So, have you ever had a manicure before?”

“Not… a manicure, no,” Ianto answered, glancing away. Toshiko prompted him with a look, and he rolled his eyes. “I lost a bet once, and had to let Lisa paint my toenails.”

It was so unlike the man’s businesslike, suit-clad image that Toshiko laughed out loud. “What color?”

“Purple. With glitter. It was awful.” The hint of a smile belied his words. “But I learned my lesson. I haven’t gambled on a single rugby game since.”

Toshiko refreshed the brush and placed the bottle on the conference table before moving on to the next finger. “Well, this clear coat won’t be quite as flash as purple glitter, but it should help preserve your fingernails. This new lacquer is supposed to be chip-proof and crack resistant, and it’s guaranteed to last at least fourteen days.”

“Let’s hope I last as long,” Ianto murmured, but at her concerned glance he tagged a smile on to the end.

“Owen knows his business. I’m sure whatever he used will help keep you in good shape.”

Ianto nodded. “Thank you for doing this, Tosh.”

Toshiko smiled. “You’re always looking after all of us, making sure we’re fed and caffeinated and everything. Taking care of you is the least we can do.”

The door to the briefing room swung open and Gwen entered, carrier bags in hand. “How’s the mani coming along?”

“Nearly done with the first hand. Did you find it?”

Gwen fished in the bag and triumphantly brandished an expensive-looking jar. “Best moisturizing cream on the market. And,” she dug in the bag again, “there’s this, too.”

Ianto took the tube with his free hand. “SilcGlove?”

“It’s a silicone-based shielding cream. It’s meant to coat your skin to protect against harsh chemicals, but it should also help keep moisture in. Also, a good lip cream,” she set a small glass pot on the table, “and moisturizing booties. Sorry, the only color they had was pink. But they really work; Rhys says my feet have never felt so soft.”

“Thanks, Gwen.” Ianto looked at the assortment of beauty and skin care products surrounding him, and the enthusiastic women who had embraced his plight without question, and felt a warmth he hadn’t experienced since before the glove had awakened him. “Thank you both. This is really kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it!” Gwen swung around the table and took the free seat beside him. “We’re happy to help. And this is something we know a little more about than the boys.”

Toshiko nodded. “Owen is a good doctor, but I don’t think skin care is really his area of expertise.”

“And Jack just cheats. He stays looking young even without sunscreen or moisturizer.” The women laughed, but Toshiko noticed Ianto’s pained smile.

“So,” she prompted, hoping it sounded casual, “have you talked to Jack about resuming your duties?”

Ianto shook his head. “I’ve hardly seen Jack since I… woke up.” Toshiko was glad she wasn’t the only one struggling with euphemisms for Ianto’s current state. “He’s been busy, apparently.”

“He’s been obsessed,” Gwen corrected, fishing in the carrier bag for some snacks she’d bought along with the beauty creams. “And short-tempered. He’s been locked in his office with those rift reports most of yesterday and this morning, and only emerges to snap at us for not having discovered all the mysteries of the rift. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s shutting me out.”

“Well, a lot has happened,” Toshiko put in. “He’s probably under a lot of stress.”

“This is Torchwood. When is he _not_ under stress? This seems different.” Gwen tore open a candy bar and took a bite. “He was all right yesterday morning, but by afternoon he was in a bear of a mood. I’m not sure what set him off, but something must have happened during the day.”

The door opened again, and they looked up to see the object of their conversation framed in the doorway. Jack spent a moment surveying the scene before he spoke. “I don’t recall authorizing a slumber party in here.”

Gwen either missed or chose to ignore the tension in Jack’s bearing. “We were about to start a pillow fight and talk about boys. Would you like to join us?”

Jack’s lips flattened into a hard line. “I would _like_ to see the results of the assignments I gave you yesterday.”

“Ease off, Jack, we did the work.” Gwen reached for one of the bags and began shoving the beauty products back into it. “We just ran out to pick up some snacks and a few things for Ianto. We were gone barely ten minutes.”

Toshiko watched Ianto closely as she finished varnishing the last fingernail, but he remained unnaturally still, his eyes fixed on his hands. He hadn’t looked up at Jack once. She stole a glance at their fearless leader and caught him staring at Ianto, his eyes hooded. Tension rolled off him and reflected back from Ianto. She cleared her throat. “Well, that’s all done. Just let that dry for ten minutes or so before you touch anything, okay?” She gathered up the nail varnish and packaging. “My program is probably close to finished by now. I’ll go check on it. Gwen, you coming?”

Gwen frowned stubbornly, watching Jack. “Ianto, do you need anything else?”

He shook his head, glancing at her while still avoiding Jack with his eyes. “No, I’m fine. Thank you both.”

Jack stepped farther into the room to clear Gwen’s path to the door. As they were leaving, Toshiko heard him say, “Ianto. You have a minute?”

Ianto wriggled his freshly-polished fingertips. “As a matter of fact, I have ten.”

The door clicked shut behind them, cutting off the rest of the conversation.

* * *

“What was all that about?” Jack demanded, gesturing toward the pile of beauty products on the table.

Ianto stretched out his fingers, observing the gloss lacquer under the lights. “They’re only trying to help.”

“By painting your fingernails and giving you…” Jack peered into the bag. “Moisturizing booties?”

“In ancient Egypt, the dead were presented with gifts for their passage into the afterlife. I’m sure if they’d had moisture booties back then, they would have been part of the funereal offerings.”

Jack answered the deflection with a scowl, but there were more important matters to discuss. He circled the table to sit directly across from Ianto. “We need to talk.”

“I thought we did that yesterday.”

“No, yesterday, you broke up with me and then walked out. We need to _talk_.”

“I broke up with you?” Ianto examined a nail more closely. “That makes it sound like we were in some kind of proper relationship.”

The words stung, but Jack refused to let Ianto see just how much. “Okay, then, how would you describe what we’ve been doing for the past few months?”

“I can think of several words for it. Most of them have four letters.”

“And that’s it?” Under the table, Jack’s fingers dug into his thighs. “That’s all it’s meant?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Jack?” Ianto finally looked up at him, eyes hard and glassy, framed in an unnaturally pale face. “I thought it might have been something more, once, but apparently I was wrong.”

Jack bristled. “Of course it was more. What could have made you think otherwise?”

Ianto shrugged and looked away. “Lack of evidence to the contrary. You certainly didn’t seem too broken up about my death.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Do you have any idea what I went through when I saw you die?” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “It was like having my heart torn out.”

“Not to parrot your words, but funny way you have of showing it.”

Jack breathed deeply to quell the hurt and anger that seared his throat. He couldn’t let himself be baited into a fight; he needed to find out what had gone wrong between them while there was still a chance of salvaging what they’d had. “What does that mean?”

Ianto fanned his fingers out on the edge of the table. “When I was lying there on the autopsy table—during the countdown, after I woke up—you barely spoke to me. Nothing of significance, anyway. I mean, I didn’t expect sackcloth and ashes, but I’d have settled for a ‘so long and thanks for all the coffee,’ or something.”

Jack stared at him. “That’s why you’re mad at me? Because I said the wrong thing when you were dying?”

“Because you didn’t say _anything_ , Jack. You didn’t _do_ anything. You brought me back from the dead—why? Certainly not for a final farewell, because you couldn’t be arsed to say goodbye when you had the chance. Tosh and Gwen managed to squeeze some kind words into what should have been my last few seconds on earth. Even Owen came up with something. But not a word from the man I’ve been sleeping with for the better part of a year. Why, Jack?”

Jack swallowed with difficulty. “I wasn’t ready.”

“ _You_ _’re_ the one who brought me back,” Ianto snapped. “You had all the time in the world to think of what you wanted to say before you activated the glove. And you’ve had two full days since, so don’t tell me you ran out of time.”

“I wasn’t ready _for this_.” Jack pressed his eyes closed. How could he make Ianto understand the agony of parting, the grief he had lived through a hundred times? “For losing you. For saying goodbye. If I’d said it, it would have meant I’d accepted what was happening. I wasn’t ready to give you up.” He opened his eyes and met Ianto’s gaze steadily. “I’m still not.”

“Is that why I’m still here?” Ianto’s voice had gone flat. “Because you were the one who brought me back with the glove, and you won’t give me up?”

“Maybe. I don’t know why the glove kept you here. I guess we can’t rule that out.” Jack moistened his lips. “Look, I’m sorry I upset you. I just want to get things back to the way they were between us. Can we do that?”

“I don’t see how, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Jack gripped the edge of the table. “I said I’m sorry, and I mean it. Let me make it up to you.”

Ianto lifted his eyes to gaze at Jack. “I believe you. But everything I said yesterday still stands.”

Jack pushed himself to his feet and began to pace, burning off his frustration in motion before it could charge his words. “Ianto, I don’t understand what you said yesterday. I still don’t know why you want to break things off between us.”

Ianto’s unblinking gaze stayed fixed on him as he traversed the room. “It’s simple. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m _dead_.”

“What has that got to do with it?”

“Everything!” Ianto snapped. “Were you listening at all? My body no longer functions. To put it bluntly, you can’t shag a corpse.”

Jack stared back at him. “But you—you’re still here. You’re still talking to me.”

“Even a _consenting_ corpse. It certainly wouldn’t improve my physical condition. And I’m fairly certain it’s illegal.”

“But _you are still here_.” Jack tapped the table for emphasis with each word. “Why won’t you stay with me?”

Somehow, Ianto managed to look even more exasperated. “Jack. I’ve just told you. You,” he pointed at Jack, “and I,” he gestured to himself. “No sex. Are those words small enough, or must I draw you a picture?” He glanced at the presentation board on one wall. “Be warned, it’ll have to be stick men. I’m not much of an artist.”

“Yes, I get it, okay?” Jack planted his face in his hands, then surfaced with a growl. “Just forget the sex thing for a minute, and tell me why you don’t want to be with me.”

Ianto’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “What?”

Jack leaned over the table, propped on his arms. “I,” he pointed to himself, “want to know why you,” he pointed at Ianto, “broke up with me.”

Ianto squinted at him. “Didn’t we just cover this?”

“No. You just keep repeating that we can’t have sex, which isn’t an answer.”

Ianto started to speak, then paused, then began again. “How is that not an answer?”

“Hold on.” Jack dropped back into the chair opposite Ianto. “I think I’m beginning to see the problem.”

“Good. Enlighten me.”

Jack took a moment to organize his thoughts. “You seem to be operating under the assumption that the basis for our relationship is primarily physical.”

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “That has historically been a significant factor in our relationship. Since before we _had_ a relationship, in fact.”

“True.” Jack leaned forward. “But before we ever slept together, we were friends. Remember? And I promised you I’d be there for you. _Before_ you put the moves on me, if you’ll recall.”

 Ianto scowled. “You would remind me that the whole thing was my idea,” he muttered, scarcely audible.

“The point is, I made that promise without any sort of sex-related qualifier, and I meant it. And you’ve been there for me, too, all along. You have been my support, my confidant—my conscience, sometimes. You keep me going, and you keep me in line. And that’s in addition to the miracles you perform around the Hub every day.” Jack stretched across the table to take Ianto’s hands, which lay limp and frigid in his own. “Regardless of physical compatibility, or biological functions, or whatever you want to call it, I still need you. I need your support. Your trust. More than anyone else here. Understand?”

Ianto nodded slowly, but he didn’t look any happier. “I think I’m beginning to.”

Jack tilted his head hopefully. “So can things go back to normal between us?”

Ianto looked away. “If you’re asking if I’ll continue to do my job, the answer is yes. Of course I will. I do have pride in my work, regardless of our relationship status. And I take my role of General Support Officer very seriously.”

Jack blinked as Ianto pulled his hands away. “Wait—I think I missed something. What about your job?”

“But if you’re hoping to keep me here for my professional abilities, I really wish you’d let me train a replacement and let me go.”

“Why do you keep suggesting I replace you? I don’t want anyone else.”

“Well, it’s only logical. I’ll be of considerably less use to you once my body enters an advanced stage of decay.”

Jack threw up his hands, palms out in a _stop_ sign. “Hold on. _What?_ ”

“I’m _dead_ , Jack. Why do I have to keep telling you this? I can’t stay on indefinitely.”

“No, I don’t mean that, I mean…” The words struck Jack, and he hesitated. “Wait. Let’s come back to the job thing in a minute. What do you mean, you can’t stay on?”

Ianto gaped at him. “For the thousandth time, I. Am. Dead. Deceased. Kaput. Proverbial bucket, kicked.”

“Yeah, for now, but Tosh is working on the glove as we speak. She’ll figure it out, and we’ll find a way to fix you.”

“There is nothing to fix, Jack. I _died_. This mortal coil may not be completely shuffled off, but take my word for it, it’s expired. Rigor mortis come and gone, flesh decaying, blood pooling in unflattering places… I should be in the morgue, not walking around like something from a horror film.” Ianto slumped back in his seat. “Maybe I should be in the morgue, regardless.”

“Absolutely not! I don’t care if your body is… damaged, I’m not locking you away in a cold storage drawer while you’re still conscious.” Jack shivered at a distant memory. “I’ve done the boxed up alive thing. Not a good time, believe me.”

“What choice do I have? It’s not as though I can pretend nothing’s changed. I can’t exactly shamble in for tea with the family: ‘Hello, Mum. No, don’t mind the livor mortis, it isn’t catching. Sorry I won’t be eating anything, it just leaks out the hole in my chest.’” He shook his head. “I can hardly carry on like this.”

“Even so, that doesn’t mean you should be frozen. If it came to that, you could just stay here with me.” Jack’s eyes widened as an idea took root, one so wild and selfish he scarcely dared acknowledge it. “Ianto, you could stay with me. You… you won’t age, like this. You could stay… for a long time…”

“And you wouldn’t be alone.” Ianto managed a pained smile. “A few days ago, I would have given anything for an eternity with you.” He shook his head. “But not like this. Not with you eternally living, and me eternally dying.” He straightened in his chair, and the professional mask slipped back in place. “In any case, we haven’t got anything like eternity. A few weeks, at best.”

In an instant, hope was supplanted by anxiety. Jack leaned forward. “What do you mean, a few weeks?”

Ianto shrugged. “Until my physical body ceases to be viable. Without metabolic processes, the body begins to disintegrate fairly quickly. We can mitigate some of the bacterial decomposition with chemicals, but we can only slow the cellular dessication, not stop it. Outside estimate, I’ll be a walking mummy within a couple of weeks. No idea how long it will take to break down after that, but I doubt it will be pretty.”

Jack’s shoulders hitched higher. “Did Owen tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to. The decay of dead tissue is a normal—”

“You’re not dead tissue!” Jack pushed to his feet. “We’re not giving up. We’ll study the glove, reverse what happened to you. We’ll find a way to fix this.”

“Death can’t be fixed,” Ianto said quietly. “Some things are irreversible.”

Jack’s retort died as a sinister thought crept across his mind. He looked searchingly at the man across the table. “Ianto, do you want to die?”

“I want to _live,_ ” Ianto answered fiercely. “But as that option has been taken from me, a quiet death seems more dignified than gradually rotting away.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“So you’ve said. Because you need me.” There was a sneer hidden beneath the words, and suddenly Jack understood where he’d lost the conversation.

“Not because of that. I mean,” he added hastily, “you’re good at your job, and I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to have the idea I’m only keeping you around because you’re useful.”

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you said a moment ago? That you needed my support?”

“No!” Jack pushed back from the table and paced the length of the room. “Well, yes, I do, but…” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Yesterday you seemed to think all I wanted you for was casual sex, and today you think I just need you around the office. What will it be tomorrow? I’m only keeping you around for your coffee?”

“ _Do not_ bring my coffee into this.”

Jack growled in frustration. “What do you want me to say, Ianto? That you’re important to me? You are. That I’m upset about your getting shot? I thought that was obvious, but evidently it wasn’t, so yes, I’m angry and scared and I wish I could undo everything that’s happened the last few days.”

Ianto curled into himself, shoulders forward, the way he always did when he shut Jack out. “Fine. We’ve established you didn’t want me to die. That’s something we can agree on.”

Jack swore under his breath and slammed his palms flat on the table. “Listen to me: I care about you. _You,_ Ianto Jones _._ Not just your organizational skills, or your coffee, or the way you look in a suit. I want you here because of who you are, and how you make me feel. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and I enjoy being with you—whether it’s hunting Weevils, or spending the night together, or just getting takeaway after a long day at work. I want you here with me because I want _you_.”

Ianto’s eyes had gone wide as he stared up at Jack, and there was an uncomfortably long silence before his shoulders uncoiled. “Oh,” he breathed. His gaze fell to the table, and something in his expression crumpled. “Oh.”

Jack swallowed and tried to calm his hammering heart. He hadn’t meant to say so much. “Is that okay?”

Ianto nodded slowly. A faint smile flitted across his mouth, but when he spoke there was a break in his voice. “You could have said so straightaway when you brought me back, instead of keeping me around the extra three days.”

Jack straightened warily. “That wasn’t meant to be a eulogy.”

“It never needed to be. I just needed _something_.” He looked up, and Jack was struck by the sadness his eyes managed to convey even without tears. “Thank you for telling me.”

The unspoken _before the end_ was ominous. “Ianto, I’m not saying goodbye,” Jack insisted. “That’s only the beginning. We’re not through.”

Ianto sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ve told you, Jack, we are. We have to be.”

Jack’s fingers curled into fists on the tabletop, but he drew a steadying breath before speaking. “Ianto, please listen. I don’t want to lose you. I want you here with me. I hope I’ve made that clear to you. And if you told me you didn’t want to be with me because you’d found someone else… I wouldn’t be happy about that, but I’d respect your choice, because I want you to be happy. But if you are saying you would _rather die_ than be with me, because you don’t think I care… Don’t. Please. Stay with me, or leave me, but don’t choose to die because of me.”

“Jack…” Ianto shook his head. “You still don’t understand. I don’t get to make that choice.” He rounded the table until he stood within arm’s reach of Jack. “Staying was never an option for me. The chemicals and beauty creams can only delay the inevitable.” He touched Jack’s sleeve, so gently Jack scarcely felt the contact. “I need you to understand that. I need you to let me go.”

Jack felt tears welling, and blinked them back. “Don’t you want to stay?”

“Of course I do. And I would, if I could. I’m not leaving you by choice. Can’t you understand that?”

Jack’s head rocked slowly back and forth. “There has to be a way to save you. We’ll find it. We just need time.”

“My time was up three days ago, and there is a limit to how much even Torchwood can borrow.” Ianto’s cold fingers pressed into his arm. “You can’t keep me here by force of will, Jack. You _have_ to let me go.”

Jack shook his head more forcefully. “No. I’m not giving up on you. Not as long as there’s a chance to save you.”

“Please, Jack. You’re the one who activated the glove, you must be the one keeping me here. If you don’t release me…” Ianto shook his head. “I don’t want to be here when my body fails. Please, let me go. Let me die with dignity.”

“I can’t let you die!” Jack’s voice had gone shrill, and he made an effort to steady it. “Ianto, I promise, I will do everything in my power to fix this. Just trust me, please. Stay with me.”

“I _can_ _’t_ stay. Don’t you understand?”

Jack gripped Ianto’s shoulders. “ _I am not losing you!_ ”

Ianto jerked away from him. “You already have, Jack!” he snapped. “Even if you won’t take my word, you’ll realize it soon enough.” He snatched the carrier bag from the table and turned toward the door.

“No!” Jack shouted, moving to block his way. “Not until you promise me you’ll stay. Promise me you’ll try.”

“I won’t.” Ianto met his eyes, his manner gone as cold as his touch. “We can’t all be immortal, Jack.”

The door slammed to mark Ianto’s exit. Jack sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands, a few tears escaping as the cruel parting shot burned through him. He had sought Ianto out to put things right between them. Where had he gone wrong? Why would Ianto choose to die over allowing Jack to save him? How had he lost the trust of his closest friend?

What had he done to earn Ianto’s utter _contempt?_

After a few minutes of agonizing but fruitless introspection, Jack squared his shoulders. Ianto had given up hope too easily. Perhaps he still didn’t realize how much he meant to Jack, or perhaps he simply undervalued his own life. But Jack would show him just how important he was. He would find the solution, if it required moving heaven or earth or hell or the _whole damn universe._ Because there was no way in any of those places he was giving up on Ianto Jones.

When he had regained control of his emotions, he pulled out his mobile and dialed a number. As it rang, he cleared his throat to scrub away any trace of tears in his voice. “Martha? It’s me. Yeah… Listen, I know you were planning on heading back to London, but I could really use your help here for a few more days…”


	6. Monday II.

The rolling chair was propelled with such force that it skidded halfway across the medical bay before colliding with a bank of monitors. Owen leaned warily around his workstation to see Ianto slump into the chair, fuming. If he’d had a core body temperature above twenty degrees, Owen reckoned there would be smoke coming out of his ears. As it was, a really angry-looking dead bloke was fairly high on the horror scale even without the smoke effects.

“Do I want to know?” Owen queried.

Ianto’s lip curled. “ _Jack_.”

“Ah. That’d be a ‘no,’ then,” the doctor muttered, sliding behind his monitor and hoping Jones didn’t expound on the situation. The teaboy’s relationship with the boss was awkward even when they spared him the details, and downright unsavory when they elaborated on them. Owen _really_ didn’t want to play relationship counselor between an immortal spaceman and his zombie boy toy. Talk about a freak show.

“He’s so…” Apparently the nearest adjective to whatever Jack was at the moment sounded something like a gargling crocodile, judging by the growl with which Ianto finished his sentence. “He’s keeping me here, against my will, all because of his bloody hero complex.”

Owen shrugged. “So leave. You know all the door codes. It’s not as though he’s got you in the vaults.”

Ianto frowned at him, then shook his head. “No, I don’t mean _here_ here,” he circled a finger in the air to indicate the Hub, “I mean… _here_ here.” He gestured to his own body.

“Wait, how do you mean?” Owen pushed his own chair over to the end of his desk so he could see Ianto fully. “How do you reckon he’s the one keeping you…” He waved a hand at Ianto. “Here? _In corpus_?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I have a theory. Jack was the one using the glove. We know the first glove worked better for people with a strong sense of empathy or emotion, right?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

“Well, Jack’s pretty emotionally wrapped up in all this. He’s admitted he can’t bring himself to let me go, and even when I asked him to, he just kept insisting I wouldn’t die and he was going to find a way to save me.” Ianto shrugged. “I think Jack is tuned into the glove somehow, and subconsciously refuses to turn it off. And maybe because of his immortality or something, it isn’t timing out after a couple of minutes like it did with everyone else.”

“Huh.” Owen chewed thoughtfully on a pencil. “Well, there’s one way to test your theory.”

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Suzie died when we destroyed the first glove.” Owen jerked his chin toward the stairs. “It’s in a box by Tosh’s desk.”

Ianto went very still. “Do you think we should?”

“Depends. How badly do you want to die? Er. Depart. You know what I mean.”

Ianto considered the question. “Badly enough that if success were guaranteed, I would absolutely do it.”

“And if it fails?”

His brow furrowed. “I really don’t want to be here when Jack finds out we’ve destroyed it.”

“We?” echoed Owen. “I think you mean _you_. I’m not touching the damn thing.”

Ianto arched an eyebrow. “It was your idea.”

“Yeah, no offense, mate, but you’re already dead. Jack can still kill me.”

Ianto propped his chin on one hand, looking thoughtful. “What do you think it would take to destroy it?”

Owen shrugged. “Doesn’t take much. Jack’s forty-five did for the last one. Shotgun blast should do the trick. Cricket bat, maybe. Depends on how vindictive you’re feeling.” A slow, sly smile spread across Ianto’s face, and Owen found himself pushing his chair back. “Uh-oh. What are you thinking?”

“Thorassian particle cannon,” Ianto said dreamily.

Owen breathed something long and profane. “You _are_ in a mood, aren’t you. Forget the glove—Jack would do you just for getting that thing out of the armory, much less firing it in the Hub.”

Ianto stood and straightened his tie. “All the more reason to use it. Want to watch?”

“Only with one-hundred-percent deniability.”

“This conversation never took place,” Ianto said seriously.

Owen grinned. “In that case, _hell_ yes.”

* * *

“Tosh? Are you busy?”

Toshiko glanced over her shoulder at Ianto, who offered her a fresh cup of coffee from his tray. “Thank you, that smells wonderful. I’m no busier than usual, why?”

“I was just wondering if you’d had any luck with the, ah, Risen Mitten Mark Two, as it were.”

She shook her head. “I’ve tried every kind of scan I can think of. There’s nothing. Even that faint energy signature I picked up doesn’t seem to be coming from the glove itself.”

Ianto nodded as she spoke, but strangely, he seemed more pleased than disappointed at the news. “And you don’t think there’s any other information you could possibly collect from it? No other tests that might reveal useful insights?”

“None I can think of—short of dismantling the thing completely, and Jack said I wasn’t to to risk that, in case it… hurts you.” She bit her lip, but Ianto just nodded along as he had been doing.

“Do you mind if I take it for a bit? There’s an experiment I’d like to try.”

“I… don’t see why not,” Toshiko said, though something about his studied innocence troubled her. “Just keep it in the stasis box. Jack didn’t want anyone handling it directly, just in case. What experiment?”

“I promise, you’ll get all the details if it works.” Ianto smiled, then hefted the box and carried it off toward one of the tunnels. Toshiko shrugged and went back to work, sipping the fresh coffee gratefully. These energy readings were all starting to blur together. Perhaps the caffeine would help her focus.

Several minutes passed before Gwen’s voice interrupted her work. “Um, Tosh?”

“What is it?” she asked without turning.

“Do you think we should be concerned with the extremely large case Ianto just carried out of the armory?”

That made her turn around. “How large? What kind of case?”

Gwen gestured with her hands about a meter apart. “About so long, so high. We don’t keep any shoulder-fired missiles here, do we?”

“Not since Jack moved all the RPGs offsite.” Why did she have a bad feeling? Toshiko’s brain ticked sluggishly through facts until something clicked. “Wait, which way was he headed?”

Gwen indicated the tunnel where Toshiko had seen Ianto take the glove earlier. “Toward the firing range.”

Toshiko swore under her breath. “Come on. If he does what I think he’s doing, Jack’s going to murder us all!”

They reached the range in under a minute—a new record, considering its distance from the central Hub. Gwen ran for the door, while Toshiko threw herself against the glass partition. “Ianto!” Toshiko screamed. “Don’t!”

Ianto was screwing together a set of long cylinders taken from a large case. Owen, standing beside him in shaded glasses and electronic earmuffs, glanced back just as Gwen entered the range. “No!” he shouted, diving for her. “You can’t be in here without ears and eyes on. That thing’ll blind you.”

“Stop him!” cried Gwen, squirming against Owen’s grasp. “He’s going to destroy the glove!”

Owen hauled her back out through the door. “Don’t you think he has a right?” His voice was raised to compensate for the hearing protection he wore. “You want to talk him down, be my guest—but not without proper kit.”

Toshiko growled and grabbed a pair of tinted safety goggles and earmuffs off the rack before stalking onto the range. Owen and Gwen, similarly outfitted, followed. She scanned the far end of the range and saw, to her horror, the glove mounted on top of a post as though waving a forlorn farewell.

“Ianto, you can’t do this!” she cried. “What if it breaks the connection?”

“Then I will consider my experiment a success,” Ianto called back. “I’d step back if I were you. This thing has a kick.” He flipped a switch and Toshiko clapped her hands over her earmuffs, the hearing protection not enough to block out the painful high-pitched whine of the charging device. Ianto raised the cannon to his shoulder and took aim.

Toshiko tried one last time. “Ianto, Jack doesn’t want the glove damaged! He gave strict orders…”

She saw Ianto’s lips curl as he pulled the trigger.

The particle beam was sun-bright and turquoise in color, and despite the tinted glasses Toshiko felt the light sear her retinas. She threw her arms up to shade against the glare and stumbled backward as the cannon lanced toward the far end of the range with a deafening screech. She could only assume the beam had struck its target when the light fragmented, as though reflected by a dozen mirrors— _metal glove_ , she realized—and struck a dozen new targets. Brick and stone shattered into fragments. Roof supports were scorched and blackened. The Weevil cutouts they used to test their marksmanship exploded into showers of flaming cellulose, some of which drifted against the wooden lane dividers.

“Um,” said Ianto, as the scorched wooden pillars burst into flame. “This might be bad.”

Evacuation alarms shrieked, and within seconds the Hub’s automatic suppressant systems triggered, clouding the room with chemical extinguishing agents. Toshiko stumbled blindly toward the exit, holding her breath, and felt the others tumble into the corridor just behind her. She stripped her safety gear and coughed for a few seconds, clearing her lungs of the noxious suppressant powder.

When she had caught her breath she glanced around, checking to see that the others were all right. Gwen was doubled over coughing while Ianto steadied her shoulders. She looked around again.

“Where’s Owen?” Toshiko shouted. Her ears were still ringing from the blast.

Ianto glanced at her, then checked the rest of the room. “Didn’t he come out?”

Toshiko pressed herself against the viewing window and felt her heart stutter. A white-coated form was slumped on the ground just behind the firing line. “He’s inside!” she cried. “The gas—he’ll suffocate!”

Just then, Jack’s voice boomed from behind them. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Jack!” Toshiko clawed at his arm, dragging him toward the door. “Owen’s still inside! You’ve got to get him out before…”

They were knocked aside as Ianto pushed past them and disappeared into the swirling white cloud of smoke and suppressant. Toshiko’s heart pounded in her throat as she waited, seconds stretching like hours, until Ianto staggered back through the doors, dragging Owen under the arms.

Jack caught the doctor up and carried him clear while Gwen sealed the doors. Within seconds Owen was conscious, alternating rough hacking with profuse swearing. Jack knelt beside him and helped him sit up.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked when the doctor had caught his breath. “Can you breathe? Are you hurt?”

Owen shook his head. “A little lightheaded, but give me a minute and I’ll be fine.” He coughed a few more times.

“Are _you_ okay?” Jack looked up at Ianto.

Ianto nodded. “I don’t need to breathe, so no harm done.”

“Gwen, Tosh? Is anyone hurt?”

“I’m okay,” Gwen answered.

“Me, too,” Tosh said, though her hands were still trembling from the adrenaline let-off.

Jack nodded once in relief, and then the anxious concern melted directly into cold fury. “In that case, perhaps one of you can tell me,” he growled in a dangerous tone, “exactly what the _hell_ happened here.”

* * *

They had ostensibly assembled in the conference room so that Jack could reprimand them equally—there simply wasn’t enough space in his office for a good group flaying—but Ianto could not help wondering if the choice of location were a not-so-subtle punishment for his earlier conversation with Jack. The brunt of the yelling did seem to be directed at him.

Which, he had to admit, was only fair.

What was left of the resurrection gauntlet lay in the center of the table, an unrecognizable lump of silver-colored slag. Jack, livid and raging, was seated at one end of the table, while the others huddled in their seats at the other, avoiding eye contact.

All except Ianto, who was sprawled casually in his usual chair. Somehow he felt beyond the reach of Jack’s anger now—of any emotion, really. He was conscious only of a vague sense of disappointment. All the excitement aside, his experiment had failed, and he was still trapped in his body with even less hope of breaking away. Destroying the glove hadn’t freed him, and it remained to be seen if time or decay would ever finish the job. On the plus side, he was completely numb to pain, so he wouldn’t _feel_ his body breaking down around him. That was something, at least.

Jack was still ranting; he hadn’t paused for breath in over a minute, and none of the others had been able to interject a word in their defense. “If I didn’t need all hands on site to deal with this crisis, I’d suspend every one of you. Of all the stupid, idiotic—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jack!” Ianto shouted over him. The interruption stunned Jack into pausing, and Ianto gestured at his teammates. “It wasn’t their fault. They were trying to stop me. Let them go back to work, and then you can resume screaming at me to your heart’s content. At least somebody will be accomplishing something _useful_ that way.”

Jack’s face bloomed into a deeper shade of purple, and Ianto wondered if he’d ever suffered an anger-induced aneurysm. “You,” Jack hissed, “can keep quiet. I’ll deal with you separately.”

“That does seem to be the new protocol,” Ianto drawled.

Jack’s eyes went wide, and Ianto leaned back in his chair. This newfound freedom was intoxicating. Was this how Jack had felt when he discovered he was immortal? No; Jack could still feel pain. Ianto was denied even that connection to reality.

Jack was struggling to stay on task. “Whose idea was it to destroy the glove?” His hard eyes searched the faces at the far end of the table. “Owen?”

Ianto saw the doctor flinch and decided he could afford to to take another bullet for the team, since the last one had freed him from such mundane consequences as pain or death. “You don’t think I’m bright enough to have ideas for myself? That certainly is revealing.”

“Ianto…” Jack growled. To anyone living, it would have been the final warning.

“Yes, sir?” Ianto folded his hands serenely on the table.

Jack held his gaze for several seconds before he reined himself in with a visible effort. “The rest of you can go,” he said, still staring at Ianto.

The others wasted no time in vacating the room, and Owen even surprised Ianto by tossing him a grateful look before closing the door. When they were alone, Jack settled against the back of the chair and took a few deep breaths. Ianto could have pushed him toward an explosion, but he was growing tired of the shouting, so he waited for Jack to regain control.

“Why did you destroy the glove?” Jack asked after a few minutes had passed in silence. Anger still radiated from him, but his voice was level.

“I thought it would stop whatever force was keeping me here.” Ianto shrugged. “Unfortunately, not the case.”

“You violated direct orders.”

“If my theory had been correct, I wouldn’t have been around for the slap on the wrist.” One corner of Ianto’s mouth curved upward. “And I _really_ wanted to try out that Thorassian particle cannon.”

Jack’s expression remained stony. “You really want to die, don’t you.”

Ianto groaned and passed a hand over his eyes. “Didn’t we already have this conversation? In this very room, not two hours ago?”

“Let’s have it again,” Jack snapped. “Because I still don’t understand.”

“It’s really not that hard, Jack. I’m dead. I’m decaying. There’s surprisingly little joy in being a corpse, and I suspect the appeal is reduced even further when pieces of your body begin _falling off_. I’d prefer to finish the job before I reach that point.” He shoved his chair back and turned toward the door.

“Hey! Just where do you think you’re going?”

“ _Home_ ,” Ianto hissed. “I’m going home. To my flat.”

Jack rose to his feet. Ianto had to admit, he’d have looked impressively menacing to most people. To the living, at least. “In case you’d forgotten, you’re still confined to the Hub.”

“Jack.” Ianto bit off the word like a curse. “I have not been home since last Thursday. I have food spoiling in my refrigerator, and by now the garbage has probably gained sentience and crawled into the next flat to terrorize the neighbors. I have bills to pay and papers to put in order. Not to mention, I have been wearing this shirt for three straight days. Clearly I’m of no use to you here, and as far as anyone has detected, I’m no danger to the world at large. So just _let me go home_.”

A muscle twitched in Jack’s cheek. “I ordered you to stay here.”

The last shred of Ianto’s control frayed away, and for an instant he couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch Jack in the nose or giggle at the absurdity of it. He settled for an incredulous snort. “And how, exactly, do you plan on stopping me? Shooting me clearly won’t work. Stun gun won’t, either; Owen used electricity to treat the rigor mortis, and I didn’t feel a thing. I suppose you could break both my legs; that might slow me down.” He stared expectantly at Jack.

A series of emotions migrated across Jack’s features, and it was a full minute before he spoke again. “You may go home,” he said at last, voice quivering with anger. “Take care of your business, and then come straight back here. If you disappear on me, I will track you down, and then I will lock you in the vaults myself. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, _sir_.” With a mocking salute, Ianto turned and made his escape at a leisurely stroll.

* * *

Owen stared at his monitor, clicking or scrolling occasionally to keep up the illusion of productivity, but not really seeing the screen. He wondered if Jack would let him take the rest of the day off if he pleaded a sore throat from breathing the fire suppressant. But then, he didn’t really want the day off. He was beginning to wonder if he might be better off at the Hub, kept under observation like Ianto.

But that would mean telling someone about his condition, and the thought of being pulled from duty and confined here was almost as much of a deterrent as anything that might happen if he were home alone when the next attack came.

He turned at the sound of his name and saw Toshiko standing at his elbow, bearing a steaming mug. “I brought you some tea,” she said, carefully pushing aside some papers on the corner of his desk to make space for the cup. “I didn’t know if you should have coffee after what happened. And anyway, Ianto’s gone.”

Owen sat up straighter. “Gone? You mean—”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly. “No, not like that. I mean he just left the Hub.”

“Does Jack know?”

“Apparently. At least, he didn’t say anything when Ianto left. He didn’t look happy when he went back to his office, but then…” She shrugged and pulled a chair nearer Owen’s desk. “I suppose we should just be glad he isn’t still screaming at us.”

“He shouldn’t have been screaming at you. Me and Ianto, maybe.” He sipped the tea and drew back at the slight bitter tang. “This is green,” he said in surprise.

Toshiko nodded. “I keep some at my desk. It’s good for you. Full of antioxidants.” She blushed a little, and Owen couldn’t help noticing how well the color complemented her complexion. “But I’m sure you know more about that than I do.”

“Never assume I know anything, compared to you,” he said. “I can’t keep up with half the jargon you spit out. Half the time you’re talking I feel like a Neanderthal.”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed. “You’re just as brilliant as I am, just in a different field. I’m sure there’s loads of medical terminology I wouldn’t understand.” Her smile shrank a little. “Are you feeling okay, after…?”

He shrugged. “Throat’s a little raw, but no harm done. The tea should help with that. Thanks.” He hefted the mug in a salute.

“I was more worried about your head. That blast had to hit you pretty hard to knock you unconscious.”

Owen’s grip tightened on the mug, but he made an effort at a casual shrug. “Nah, I’m fine. I might go home a little early to rest, though. Just gotta get some work done first.” He half-turned back to his screen and fiddled with the mouse.

He hoped Toshiko would take that as a cue to leave, but when he glanced back a moment later she was leaning closer. And frowning. “Owen, are you sure you’re all right? We could call Martha in to check you out…”

“I’m fine, Tosh. I already said I’m fine.”

“I’m not sure you are. You could have a concussion. We should at least check.”

He set the mug down with such force that tea sloshed over the papers on his desk and whirled to face her. “Oh, so you’re going to diagnose me now? Who’s the doctor here, anyway?”

Unfazed by his outburst, Toshiko leaned back and crossed her arms. “I don’t need to be a doctor to tell something is wrong with you.”

He sneered at her confidence. “And what, pray tell, gives you the impression that anything is wrong with me?”

She nodded toward his computer screen. “Because you’re browsing a women’s reproductive health discussion forum, and you’ve just clicked on an advert for weight-loss pills. So either you’ve grown suddenly self-conscious about your post-pregnancy tummy fat, or you might have hit your head harder than you think.”

Owen cringed as he looked back at his monitor, and scrabbled for some excuse—he suspected the pills were being sold by aliens? He was checking the site for a girlfriend?—but a glance at Toshiko’s expectant face told him she wouldn’t believe anything he said. He slumped back in his chair with a sigh.

“I didn’t hit my head,” he murmured reluctantly.

Toshiko raised an eyebrow. “Are you absolutely sure?”

He nodded. “I was out, but it wasn’t because of the blast. I don’t even remember Ianto firing the cannon.”

“What do you mean, out? You were standing right next to me when the explosion happened.”

“I may have been standing there, but I wasn’t… there.” He rubbed his forehead. “You remember when I told you about what I saw at the Pharm?”

She nodded. “You said when Copley shot Ianto, you imagined you saw yourself die.”

“Yeah. Well, ever since then, I’ve been having these weird episodes where I sort of… zone out. It’s like I’m not here. Or like someone—something—else is, instead.” He shook his head. “It’s really hard to describe. It’s not a blackout, not really. I’m still conscious. I just… it’s like there’s something else in my head for a few seconds.”

Toshiko put her hand on his arm. “Owen, that sounds really serious.”

“It doesn’t happen that often, just a couple times a day. And there are never any aftereffects.”

“A couple times a day is enough to be dangerous! What if it happens when you’re driving?” She stood. “I think we should tell Jack. He can call Martha, she’ll…”

“No!” Owen couldn’t understand the fear that pulsed through him suddenly, an instinct that assured him probing any deeper into this mystery would have devastating consequences. “No, don’t tell Jack. Give me a couple of days to work on it. If I find the cause, I can treat it myself, and Jack won’t have one more thing to be upset about.”

Toshiko’s brow crinkled, but she nodded. “You have twenty-four hours,” she said firmly. “If you can’t show me proof that you’ve sorted this by tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to Jack.”

Owen considered her expression and decided he was lucky he’d gotten a single day’s reprieve. “Fair enough,” he sighed.


	7. Monday III.

Ianto wasn’t sure what he had expected to see when he unlocked the door, but his flat was almost disappointingly normal after the chaos and upheaval of the past few days. Nothing had moved from where he’d left it the previous week. He stood in the entryway for a moment, basking in the worn familiarity of the things around him, before calling up the mental to-do list he’d composed on the drive.

As much as he would have preferred to spend the entire evening away from the Hub, he knew his dramatic exit from the conference room had made an impression, and he didn’t want to risk taking too long. He didn’t know if Jack were vindictive enough to lock him in the vaults simply because he’d taken his time returning, but after the past few days Ianto wouldn’t have put _anything_ beyond Jack.

Ianto bathed carefully, mindful of Owen’s warnings and of the bandage on his chest, and dressed in fresh clothes: A crisp shirt, his favorite tie, the bespoke suit he’d spent half his last paycheck on. It was amazing how much his mood improved once he was properly dressed.

He checked the his laundry basket, but he had done the washing the day before he’d been shot, so there wasn’t much. Still, he tried to put his wardrobe in order and make his rooms presentable. After his death, someone would have to clean out the flat—probably one of his Torchwood colleagues, if they followed the same protocol they had for Suzie Costello. Jack had spent enough time in his flat to know the truth, but Ianto wanted to preserve the impression that he was tidy by nature in case someone else was assigned the cleanup. He hated the thought of his coworkers poking through his most personal effects. Perhaps he could come back later with some storage boxes and do the packing up for them, and at the same time dispose of anything too personally revealing.

When the tidying was finished, he paid the few bills he knew were due before the end of the month, then retrieved his box of legal and financial documents from the bottom of the closet and set them in plain view on the bed. Torchwood would dispose of his worldly goods, but his bank balance, at least, would pass on to his legal heirs. Maybe with the inheritance, Rhiannon and Johnny could finally move out of that grimy estate and find someplace nicer for the kids.

Ianto frowned as he rifled through the bank documents. He really should talk to Rhiannon, settle things with her, maybe buy a farewell present for his niece and nephew so they would remember him. He hadn’t seen any of them since his mother’s birthday the previous spring. And Mum… Ianto groaned inwardly. His mother’s health was poor enough that the shock of losing her son could very well kill her. He would have to create a cover story, perhaps something about working out of the country, and find some way for his bequest to pass on to Rhi without revealing that he was actually dead. He added it to his mental list of things to do before the end. Whenever that was.

Next on the list was the kitchen, which Ianto dreaded. He’d hardly spent any time at home during the previous week, and the refrigerator housed the ripe-smelling remains of several takeaway meals. As he sealed the leftovers in a garbage bag, he was grateful that he didn’t actually need to breathe.

Anything that wasn’t spoiled went into a large packing box he’d found in the back of a closet. To that he added the microwave dinners and prepared foods from the freezer, followed by half a loaf from the breadbox. Then he would just clear the tins from the pantry, and…

Ianto froze as his hand brushed the smooth curve of a glass bottle. He reached carefully behind a box of biscuits and retrieved a bottle of claret that had been pushed into the back corner by successive layers of tins and pasta boxes. He wiped the dust from the bottle with a dish towel and sank into a chair, cradling the wine bottle in his hands. Remembering.

* * *

Ianto had learned to drink cheap beer during his lean days in London, when his housemates, Gavin and Nathan, had stocked their shared refrigerator with whatever they could buy in largest quantity for lowest cost. After a few months he’d moved to be closer to work, and his new flatmate Soren had dragged him to the pub often enough that he’d developed a taste for the local draught beers. He’d been flush with his new paychecks from Torchwood One, and it had seemed the height of extravagance to drink something that hadn’t come off the bottom shelf at Tesco.

Then Lisa had introduced him to wine. She’d favored Pinot grigio on their rare dinners out. Ianto had found it too dry at first, but had learned to drink it for her sake, and it had become something almost sacred. Sipping from a stemmed glass while staring at the woman he loved was a sublime experience, almost too perfect to belong in his mundane existence. He’d daydreamed about engagement rings and wine bottles and gleaming stemware, and Soren had mocked him when he caught him looking over the wine list at their local.

After Lisa died, he’d gone back to beer. Wine dredged up too many memories.

And then came Jack, who almost always drank water, even when he bought rounds for the team after a tough mission. Despite the decanter he kept at the Hub, Jack drank alcohol only rarely, and never when he was working; he was determined to remain alert and clear-headed in case the rift flared up. By monitoring the decanter and its contents, Ianto eventually learned that Jack’s tastes ran toward expensive, well-aged hard liquor. Scotch, mostly. Bourbon whiskey, on rare occasions.

So it had come as a complete surprise when, on one of their more elegant evenings out, Jack had ordered an expensive Bordeaux for them to share. Ianto had been touched by the rare indulgence, since it meant that Jack had chosen to go completely off-duty during their time together. Jack had explained his fondness for the varietal he’d chosen with some wild tale about spaceships and vineyards and time travel and an alien named Neebix, all of it completely unbelievable and therefore most likely true. Ianto had laughed and rolled his eyes appropriately and toyed with his glass, trying to conceal the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to drink, but Jack had noticed.

Ianto hadn’t wanted to talk about himself that night, least of all about Lisa. But the look in Jack’s eyes when he’d asked was so sincere, so full of concern, that he had ended up pouring out his memories for the better part of an hour. And Jack had listened, and nodded, and touched his hand, and had shown no resentment whatsoever that Ianto was spending their entire date talking about his dead girlfriend.

In the end, Jack had coaxed him into trying the Bordeaux. To his surprise, Ianto found that the red wine didn’t remind him of Lisa at all, but tasted of Jack—strong and bold and enigmatic, just a touch bitter, but with a lingering sweetness underneath.

* * *

Ianto traced the embossed-foil label of the bottle in his hand. He had acquired it in an optimistic moment when he still believed that his stolen evenings with Jack would ever be more than takeaway and a breathless stumble toward the bedroom. In his naive fantasy, he’d imagined orchestrating a special evening in: A quiet dinner for two, a bottle of Jack’s favorite wine, maybe even some candles. Perhaps, in such a setting, he would find a way to express all the things he could never quite bring himself to say in the rush of their daily lives.

A dry chuckle rattled in his chest. He’d been foolish to take their frantic moments together for granted. What he wouldn’t give now for another of those exhausting nights. For a red-eyed morning clearing up greasy paper boxes that had been pushed aside when greasy lips and fingers found each other. For arguing over whose turn it was to change the bed linens, jockeying for space at the sink, sharing strong coffee in the too-small kitchen…

His fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle. He wanted to rage, to smash something, to choke with emotion until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted the flood of heat and anger to blind him. He wanted to scream, to sob, to _cry_ —but his body hung uselessly around him, a cold and unfeeling shell, oblivious to the twisting torment of his soul.

_Enough_. Ianto plunged the bottle of wine into the box with bread and cheese and frozen meals, swept the remaining contents of the pantry on top, then carried the whole package downstairs and knocked on the door of the flat directly below his.

Despite her flat’s location, Mrs. Abner was the only neighbor in his building who had never filed a complaint about the noise he and Jack had made on some of their more… enthusiastic evenings. Ianto thought this owed more to her advancing deafness than to any particular charitability on her part, but it still left her the only one of his neighbors with whom he was on good terms.

The diminutive octogenarian opened the door suspiciously, but brightened immediately upon seeing Ianto. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jones! What have you got there?”

“Just some food and things, ma’am. I’ve just learned I’ll be going away for a while—travel for work, very last-minute—and I didn’t want everything in my flat to spoil and go to waste. I thought you might be able to use it?”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Come in, come in.” She waved him into the flat, and Ianto made his way to the kitchen and deposited the box on the table. Mrs. Abner adjusted her spectacles and peered into the box. “My, there’s a lot of food here. It must have cost you a fortune. Are you sure I can’t pay you for any of it?”

“No, there’s no need. I just didn’t want to see it all go in the bin. You’re helping me by taking it, really.”

Mrs. Abner’s face crinkled into a smile. “Very well. Thank you.” Without warning she reached out to clasp his hand, and gasped. “My goodness, your hands are frozen! Are you feeling all right!” She peered up at his face. “You do look a little pale.”

Ianto withdrew his hand as gently as possible and made a show of rubbing his fingers together. “Must have spent too long with my hands in the icebox, cleaning all this out.” He turned back toward the door. “Well, I had better finish packing. Good afternoon.”

Mrs. Abner followed him to the door. “You take care on your travels, dear. And don’t forget to take some time for yourself. I worry about you working too hard.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Abner. You needn’t worry; I have quite a long rest coming up.” Ianto forced a smile.

“That’s good to hear. Is that man of yours going with you?”

Ianto froze, his mouth half open. “I’m… sorry?”

“Your fellow. You know,” Mrs. Abner waved her hand above her head to indicate someone of greater height, “the good-looking bloke with the long coat. The one you sneak into the building late at night.”

“Oh… you mean… Jack,” Ianto recovered awkwardly. “Um, no, I don’t believe so. He, er, has to work.”

She nodded. “I might have guessed. He works too hard, too.” At Ianto’s curious look, she gave him a wink. “It explains why the two of you play so hard.”

For the first time, Ianto was grateful his circulatory system was offline. He knew his face would have been red as a beet if he’d been alive.

“Not that I blame you,” she went on. “Mr. Abner served in the war, you know. He used to have a coat like that, and it had much the same effect on me…”

“I… should really get back to packing,” Ianto stammered.

“Of course, I shouldn’t keep you. Thank you for the food. And do give my best to your Jack.”

She closed the door, and Ianto slumped against the wall. He was almost glad he was going away forever—the thought of his elderly neighbor listening in on—and _analyzing_ —his nocturnal activities with Jack was mortifying. Of course, Jack would find it hilarious, and would probably go out of his way to cross paths with Mrs. Abner as often as possible once he found out…

But he wouldn’t find out, not now. After their series of increasingly disastrous conversations, Ianto would be lucky if Jack ever spoke to him with anything more than the barest civility. Anything personal, much less intimate, belonged on the other side of a bridge they’d mutually ignited and fanned with anger until not even embers remained.

With a sigh, Ianto trudged back up the stairs to pack away what little remained of his life.

* * *

“Owen. Got a minute?”

The doctor turned away from his monitor, where he was scrolling through an article on sleep paralysis, and started almost guiltily at the sight of Jack. “Sure. What do you need?”

Jack leaned against the autopsy table and crossed his arms. He hated himself for even considering the question, but it had to be asked. “How can we let Ianto die?”

Owen eyed Jack warily. “Is that a philosophical question, or…?”

“Not die, but… disconnect. Separate soul from body. You know what I mean.” Jack rubbed his eyes with one hand. After Ianto had left the conference room his anger had faded too quickly, leaving him exhausted and emotionally drained. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually longed for sleep, but now he was tempted to crawl into his bunker and lock the door for a week.

He looked up to find the doctor regarding him with a curious look. “You’re going to let him go?”

“Let him?” Jack echoed. “I don’t see that I have any say in the matter.”

Owen shrugged. “It’s just that I’ve been doing everything I can to… well, _preserve_ him, per your orders. This is a bit of a change.”

“Clearly he doesn’t wish to remain in his body.” Jack scowled. “And since he’s willing to go to extremes to try to break the connection himself, I think finding a method that doesn’t involve burning down the Hub would be in our best interest.”

There was that little flash of guilt again in Owen’s expression. Jack was certain the doctor had had something to do with the debacle in the firing range, but he didn’t feel like pressing the issue right now. “Ianto’s worried about his physical condition deteriorating, which is understandable. I agree it would be best if he could, you know, vacate the premises before that happens.” Owen sighed. “But I can’t help you there. I’ve got no idea why he’s still hanging around. Up until an hour ago, my best guess would have been something to do with the glove, but obviously we can scratch that off the list now.”

Jack frowned. “You’re certain it’s not something physical?”

“Not that I can detect. And if it isn’t—well, anything we try might have disastrous consequences for him.”

“How do you mean?”

Owen held up his hands to frame an invisible concept. “Let’s say we assume he’s attached to his physical body somehow—that there’s some physiological element tying the soul down, and therefore destroying the body would break the connection and allow him to move on. With me?”

“Yeah.”

“So under this assumption, we could try cremating him.”

Jack shuddered. “Not a pleasant experience.”

Owen gave him another odd look. “I assume you’re speaking from personal experience, and I really don’t want to know. Anyway, if we’re right, incinerating the body would break the physical connection and free Ianto’s soul. But if we’re wrong…” The doctor shrugged. “Now Ianto’s soul is still here, only now it’s tied to a pile of ash, without any means of communicating with us.”

Jack swallowed. “Oh. I see your point.”

“Yeah.” Owen shook himself. “I can’t think of any fate worse than being trapped here, forced to observe the world for eternity, but unable to interact with it.”

“You really think he’s here for eternity?”

“No way of knowing. You’re the resident expert on eternity, or as close as we’ve got to one.”

Jack shook his head, but before he could answer Toshiko appeared at the top of the stairs. “Jack?” she called down. “Another alert. This is getting serious.”

He jogged up the stairs, grateful for a distraction from the thought of Ianto suffering a worse fate than his own, and leaned over her desk. “What’s going on?”

Toshiko waved the mouse pointer over several areas she’d highlighted in red on the map. “The readings have been steadily increasing in these areas since we began to detect the anomaly. At first it didn’t seem to be causing any problems, but now we have reports coming in of serious traffic accidents, disorientation, pedestrian injuries, even _ghost sightings_ , of all things. Thirty-six incidents so far, grouped primarily in these three main areas.” She pointed to the largest splotches of color on the map, two of which Jack had already investigated. “And what’s worse, it seems to be spreading. If I adjust for finer temporal displacement…” She tapped a few keys, and the map sprouted a dozen more small, asymmetrical blotches. “We can assume from the readings that these spots will continue the time distortion at the same rate. It’s a matter of days before all of Cardiff is experiencing this kind of chaos.”

“How many days?”

“Assuming a constant rate of increase? Four. Five, at most.”

“Fuzz,” Jack muttered under his breath.

Toshiko frowned up at him. “Well, yes, it’s the same sort of anomaly we’ve been detecting all along…”

“I meant that in the thirty-fifth century sense, Tosh,” he said. “And we have no idea what’s causing this?”

“None. Although it started about the same time we were at the Pharm, and in roughly the same general area. Perhaps it was something Copley set off?”

“If so, he’s beyond our reach now. We don’t even have the glove to question him.” Jack frowned at the red spots as though he could intimidate them off the map. “How’s our stock of temporal anchors?”

“Um…” Toshiko exchanged an uncertain glance with Gwen. “I’m not sure. Ianto usually keeps track of those.”

“We had at least three left in the SUV after the thing with the Picts,” Gwen offered. “I don’t know about the stock in the Hub.”

“Three is not nearly enough. And that’s even assuming they’d work. There’s no real temporal incursion to rectify.”

The hard-line phone rang, and Gwen moved to answer it before Jack could think to. He continued staring at the map, searching for a pattern. There had to be something he was missing in all this…

A minute later Gwen rang off and called over to him. “That was the police,” she reported. “They’ve had half a dozen ‘monster sightings’ in the last two hours. The descriptions are consistent with Weevils, and there was at least one injury. They’d like us to check it out.”

“Where?”

Gwen joined them at Toshiko’s workstation and nodded toward the map. “I’ll give you three guesses, and you’ll probably get them all right.”

Jack bit back an even stronger profanity from his own century. “All right. Gwen, gear up. You and I are going Weevil hunting. And then we’ll see what happens when you trigger a temporal anchor in the middle of an anomaly.”

“Just try not to get yourselves sucked into the rift,” Toshiko sighed. “Training your replacements would be hard work.”

Jack flashed his teeth at her in an effort to lighten the mood. “You know you could never replace a guy like me,” he called as he strode toward the armory. “I’m one of a kind.”

“Thank goodness for that!” Toshiko shouted after him.

* * *

Gwen let out an audible sigh and slumped against the boot of the SUV. Inside, they could hear one of the Weevils scratching against the door. She thumped the door with the flat of her hand, and the sound ceased.

“I don’t get it,” she panted, looking over at Jack. His face was streaked with sweat and mud, and his clothing sported dark blooms of blood from a cut across his scalp. Ianto was going to have a fit when he saw the condition of Jack’s greatcoat. “They look like any other Weevils. Why are they so resistant to the spray?”

Jack shrugged, still breathing too hard to answer. The last Weevil they’d caught had charged him straight on, headbutting him in the solar plexus and tumbling them both down an embankment before Jack had rendered the creature unconscious. Jack wiped his face with the cuff of his coat and straightened. “They’re a lot more agitated than usual,” he said between gasps. “Maybe they’re just desperate.”

“Or maybe it’s something to do with this temporal whatsit,” Gwen mused.

“Given the police reports, I think that goes without saying.” Jack winced as he rolled his shoulder.

“You okay? That thing hit you pretty hard.”

“Probably cracked a rib, and I’m thinking it didn’t do my rotator cuff any good.” His face tight with pain, he fished out the keys with his good arm and tossed them to Gwen. “You’re driving until I recover.”

She slid behind the wheel and, against Jack’s protests, reached across him to buckle his safety belt. “Seriously, Gwen. It’s not like a crash will kill me.”

“If you go through the windshield in an accident, the glass will tear your coat, and then _I_ _’m_ the one who’s going to have to explain the damage to Ianto. No, thank you.”

At the mention of Ianto, Jack went silent, and Gwen found herself wondering just what had happened after the rest of the team had been sent out of the conference room. Seeing Ianto flaunt Jack’s authority and mouth off at him like that had been jarring. It was absolutely unlike the Ianto she knew, the Ianto who was utterly devoted to Jack. The Ianto who had once shot Owen in the name of following Jack’s orders.

But then, Ianto _was_ dead. Maybe that changed things.

“Where to now?” she asked as she started the engine. She desperately hoped Jack would say the Hub, because he was in terrible shape and she was tired of chasing Weevils, but she knew better than to assume they were done for the night. It was only just past seven, and Torchwood didn’t keep regular office hours.

Jack roused himself from his sullen stillness and fiddled with the GPS unit. “We should see what we can do about this anomaly,” he said. Even his voice sounded tired, and Gwen wondered if it his body took longer to heal if he didn’t stop to rest. “Let’s go to the epicenter, here.”

Gwen followed the navigation back to the park they had investigated a few days before. The route took her directly past the turnoff to the Pharm facility, and she shuddered. Even the empty drive looked malevolent in the twilight, cloaked in an early mist. She pressed a littler harder on the accelerator to hurry past the campus.

At the park, she parked the SUV in the same spot as before—beside the curb this time, rather than on it—and scanned the green space through the windshield. “Looks quiet,” she observed. “Apparently whatever’s been happening has spooked the locals.”

“Better for us that way.” Jack unfastened the shoulder harness and eased himself out the door with a grimace. “Grab the scanning kit and a temporal anchor.”

The Weevils were already squirming in the boot when she opened the side door, and she took a moment to spray them into submission again before retrieving the equipment. “What are we scanning for?” she asked when she had hauled the load to the center of the park, where Jack was kneeling.

“Anything. Everything.” Jack lifted his good hand to rub at the blood congealing on one cheek. At least the scalp wound seemed to be bleeding less now. “If people are seeing things, there has to be _some_ energy trace.”

Gwen began setting up the scanning equipment, but froze when she heard a sound. She glanced at Jack and saw the same confused expression on his face. “Did you hear that?”

“A dog barking. Sounded close.” Jack struggled to his feet and rotated slowly in a circle. “I don’t see anything, but… do you feel that? Something is _weird_ here.”

“I don’t feel anything except cold and damp. But that’s just the fog, I suspect.”

Jack shook his head. “It’s something more than that. It’s like… like I’m being pulled in two directions.” He shivered.

Gwen frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Well, back when I was time traveling, it meant my coordinates were wrong and the safety protocols were kicking in to keep me from materializing inside a mountain or something.” He gingerly opened the leather flap on his wrist strap, trying to keep his injured arm braced against his body, and did something with the buttons.

Gwen looked back across the park and let out a squeak of surprise as a figure ghosted past her. Jack whirled around, and she pointed frantically. “There! He was just there! I saw him!”

“Where?” Jack squinted in the direction she was pointing. “How far away?”

“Not ten feet. He had a dog, on a leash.”

“Well, at least our ghosts are following park rules, then,” Jack said dryly. “Where did he go?”

“Just vanished, almost as soon as he appeared.”

“Like the ghost reports.” Jack nodded toward the scanners. “Better finish setting that up. Let’s get some readings.”

They spotted two more apparitions, figures vanishing into the twilight, before she had the scanners running. “Nothing’s showing up here,” Gwen said, checking the readout. “Levels are showing the same as Tosh’s reports.”

Jack frowned as another figure appeared and disappeared into the mist. He tapped his earpiece to connect to the Hub. “Tosh? Does this thing do tachyon radiation?”

Toshiko’s voice crackled into Gwen’s ear. “In theory. I configured it to scan for tachyon particles after our visit from Michael Bellini, but I never had a chance to test it. It reads on a completely different frequency, though, so you’ll have to manually reconfigure it.”

“Can you talk me through it?” he asked. Gwen stepped out of the way and watched Jack work as he followed Toshiko’s instructions. Finally he switched the scanner back on, and it chirped immediately. “Wow. This thing just lit up like a Roman candle. Tosh, are you getting these readings?”

“Yes, I am. But what could be giving off that level of radiation? We haven’t found any artifacts or rift debris in the area.”

“I think we can be pretty sure that whatever’s causing this distortion didn’t come through the rift,” Jack answered. “Tachyon energy repels rift energy, remember? Anything from the rift would have pushed away the radiation, or vice versa.”

Gwen frowned thoughtfully. “Jack, you told us once that tachyon radiation comes from… alternate universes, was it?”

“The schisms that create them, to be more accurate.”

“So all these ghosts we’re seeing…” She pointed as another figure drifted in and out of view. “They could be part of another universe, just bleeding through to ours somehow?”

Jack nodded. “It’s a possibility. Still doesn’t help us narrow down what’s causing it, though.”

A woman appeared abruptly at Gwen’s left, shrieked in surprise, reeled backward, and vanished. Gwen shivered. “No mystery as to why people are spooked around here. Do you suppose they’re really here?”

“As opposed to, what, hallucinations?”

“I mean, are they corporeal? Could we touch them?”

Jack shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “Probably, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Might trigger a nasty temporal implosion. Cause the end of the universe, that sort of thing.” Jack grinned feebly at her. His face was pale, and Gwen wondered how much of that was due to blood loss and how much was the unsettled feeling he’d admitted to earlier. “Where’s that temporal anchor?”

Gwen fished the device out of a bag and handed it over. “Do you think it’ll stop this?”

“Not sure; there’s an awful lot of bleedover. But it’s worth a shot.” He adjusted some settings on the device and switched it on. “You may want to stand back, just in case,” he warned. Gwen complied, and Jack waited until one of the ghostly figures appeared, then tossed the temporal anchor directly into it.

“Oi!” cried the man, looking down at the spot where the device had bounced off his arm. “Watch where you’re—” The figure vanished into the fog like the others had done, while the temporal anchor lay blinking on the grass.

Jack frowned. “Okay, so apparently they’re _not_ beings out of their own time. I wonder if…” His thought was interrupted by a flash of sparks and a hiss of smoke as the temporal anchor fizzled into a useless lump of components.

“What just happened?” asked Toshiko’s voice. “There was some terrible feedback in the system for a second.”

“We, uh, just burned out a temporal anchor,” Gwen answered. “Jack, why did that happen?”

Jack was staring at the lump of alien metal with a glazed look in his eyes. “I have no idea.” Sighing heavily, he crossed to the device and kicked its remains back toward Gwen with the toe of his boot. It sizzled as it rolled through the damp grass. “Careful, it’s still hot.”

Gwen managed to rig some insulation out of the equipment bag and packed the damaged device for transport back to the Hub. When she glanced up at Jack again, he was staring off into the distance with a worried look on his face. “Is there anything else we should try?”

Jack didn’t acknowledge the question. Gwen recalled how he’d stared into space on their previous visit, and in his office. “Jack!” she snapped, tossing a spanner in his direction.

“Ow!” Jack glared down at her and rubbed the spot where the spanner had hit him. “What was that for?”

“What’s wrong with you? That’s the third time you’ve gone catatonic on me.”

“I wasn’t…” He blinked a few times, and his expression melted from anger into confusion. “What was I doing? I think I saw something. Someone.” He shook his head and then winced, putting a hand to the gash above his face. “Probably just one of those ghosts. Anyway, I don’t think it’s worth risking another temporal anchor. Toshiko, do you have enough data from the scanner to start analyzing?”

“It’s enough to start with. Can you leave the scanner running in the SUV on the way back to the Hub? That will help me map out the source of the radiation.”

“Sure.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulder again. “You want us to drive around a bit, so you can triangulate? We can run by the other anomaly hot spots and see if it’s the same in all locations.”

“That’s a great idea, Jack. You—”

“I have a better one,” Gwen interrupted. “Tosh, I’m going to drive straight back to the Hub. Put Owen on alert; we have several feisty Weevils in the boot who will need an escort to the vaults. And I’ll be dropping Jack off. Have Owen give him a once-over and some painkillers, and then see that he _goes to bed_.” She raised her voice over Jack’s protests. “Then I’ll drive the scanners all around the city until you have the data you need.” She cut the connection and dangled the SUV keys just out of Jack’s reach. “You’re in no condition to argue with me, Jack. Get in the car.”

Jack glared at her, but stalked back toward the vehicle, still bracing his injured arm against his body. Gwen packed up the remaining equipment and tossed it in the backseat, sprayed the Weevils again for good measure, then circled to the driver’s side.

“It would be nice,” Jack snarled as she slid behind the wheel, “if you people would at least _pretend_ that I’m in charge.”

“You are in charge, Jack, as long as you’re fit for duty. Which you clearly _aren_ _’t_. You haven’t rested, I’m not sure if you’ve eaten, you have multiple injuries, and you’ve developed a disturbing tendency to drift off into some other world when people are speaking to you. I don’t have all the Torchwood protocols memorized like some people…” She carefully avoided mentioning Ianto’s name. “…but I’m sure there’s some provision for relieving a compromised officer of duty.”

“I’m not compromised,” Jack growled.

“Maybe not, but you’re precious little use right now. Look, Jack, anyone can drive a scanner around Cardiff. Even Rhys could do it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I don’t plan to. My point is, we, _your team_ , we’re competent. We don’t need our hands held. We kept Torchwood running for months while you were gone. You could be resting and healing back at the Hub instead of exhausting yourself trying to supervise every single away mission.” He started to protest again, but she talked over him. “And as long as I’m driving this vehicle, it’s heading for the Hub. So unless you think you’re in condition to take these keys from me by force, you might as well get comfortable.”

Jack scowled at her, but as he settled back against the headrest, she thought she saw the faintest trace of relief in his eyes.


	8. Tuesday I.

_“You blame yourself,” the voice said. “You bear the guilt.”_

_Mist swirled between them._ _“Why are you here?”_

_“I am here to help you. I can spare you a great deal of pain.” The voice echoed unnaturally in the open space. “I can change the past. Rewrite everything that happened.”_

_He plunged his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling._ _“Nothing can change the past.”_

_“I can reshape the fabric of time without tearing it. You need only say the word, and I will stop the bullet.” The hooded figure drifted back into view, somewhere off to his left. The fog was making it difficult to gauge distances. “If you refuse, you are condemning them to their fate by your own will.”_

_The mist roiled thick about them, obscuring the carved words, until the stone faded to a shadow in the fog._

_“You must choose. Do I have your agreement?”_

_His voice cracked as the single word was drawn almost unwillingly from his throat._

_“Yes.”_

* * *

Sarah Jane smothered a yawn as she opened the door to the attic. “Mr. Smith,” she called, voice still rough from sleep, “I need you.”

It was too early in the morning for the dramatic fanfare and smoke effects, but Mr. Smith provided them anyway. His voice was just as chipper as ever. “Good morning, Sarah Jane. Did you sleep well?”

“Not at all,” she mumbled into her mug of tea. “I was up half the night worrying about that little creature we helped yesterday. Did its ship launch successfully?”

“Scanning.” Mr. Smith processed for a moment, then displayed some grainy CCTV footage of a football-sized pod rising from the pavement. “My scanner range is limited, but all available information indicates a successful launch. According to my calculations, the ship should have had enough fuel to break out of Earth’s gravitational field.”

Sarah Jane slumped in relief. “Oh, I’m glad to hear that. Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

She was halfway back to the door when Mr. Smith caught her attention again. “As you requested, I have continued monitoring the anomalies in Cardiff. Would you like to view the updated information?”

She really would have preferred to go back to bed, but as long as she was up here, she might as well have a look. “Very well,” she yawned, settling onto a stool. “Show me your findings.” The screen transitioned into a map with splotches of color radiating outward. “What am I looking at, Mr. Smith?”

“The localized anomalies have been spreading. There are now twenty-seven significant temporally-compromised zones throughout Cardiff.”

“So it’s getting worse. Are you picking up any alien energy?”

“There are multiple energy signatures present. I have zeroed out normal energy from the rift, leaving an unidentified radiation trace, as well as this resonant frequency.” A box of scrolling code and a graphic representation of a waveform appeared side-by-side on the screen. Something about the energy pattern seemed vaguely familiar—and extremely unsettling. She found herself shivering. “Have we seen anything like this before, Mr. Smith?”

“Similar readings were detected on two previous occasions.”

“On screen, if you please, Mr. Smith.”

Mr. Smith complied. Sarah Jane skimmed the reports, then read them through again, more carefully. “Mr. Smith,” she said, now fully awake, “are you absolutely certain of this?”

“Atmospheric and electrical interference allow for a 1.42% margin of error. Percentage of variation in the energy readings calculates to 0.67%. In summary, I am approximately 98% certain.”

Sarah Jane’s fingers were shaking as she drew out her mobile. She tried hard to steady her voice. “Hello, Mrs. Langer? This is Sarah Jane Smith, Luke’s mum. I’m terribly sorry to call so early, and for giving such short notice, but I’ve just learned I must go out of town for a couple of days—for work—and I was wondering if Luke could possibly stay over? Oh, thank you so much! I’m sure he and Clyde will have a lovely time. I’ll be in touch.”

She pocketed her mobile and turned toward the door. “Mr. Smith, I need you to compile all of these readings for me. I’ll need to take them with me to Cardiff.”

“You’ll be traveling to Cardiff, Sarah Jane?”

“Yes. It’s time I had a talk with Torchwood.”

* * *

“Good morning,” Martha Jones called cheerily as she made her way down the steps to the medical bay. “Should I scrub in right away, or do I have time for a coffee first?”

Owen pushed around in his swivel chair to face her and took the well-chewed pencil from the corner of his mouth. “Morning, Martha. Jack finally called in the cavalry, did he?”

Martha hooked her bag over the back of an empty chair. “He didn’t tell you I was coming?”

Owen shook his head. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. I told him I didn’t need help, but…” He shrugged. “You know Jack.”

Martha frowned. “But it seemed urgent. Jack sounded upset on the phone yesterday.”

“Jack’s been upset for days,” Owen growled. “And by upset, I mean short-tempered and bitchy.”

“Why?”

Owen turned back to his workstation. “Probably feels responsible for Ianto’s getting shot,” he muttered. “Anyway, now he’s dragged you into it, you’d best keep your head down if you don’t want it bitten off.”

“I can handle Jack. I’m only here as a favor to him, anyway.” She dragged the spare chair over near Owen’s desk and settled into it. “So what’s the big crisis? Why would he think you’d need my help?”

Owen leaned back and waved a hand at the monitor. “Two crises, actually. The one he probably wants you to help with is Ianto.”

Martha swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “But Ianto died of a gunshot wound. Pretty straightforward. Why would he need my help?” She hoped they didn’t expect her to do the autopsy. She hated conducting postmortems on people she knew. Granted, she had known Ianto for only a few days, but she had liked his dry humor and his sincere smile. And it was clear Jack had been mad about him. No wonder he had been on edge ever since it happened.

“He did die.” Owen looked over at her. “And then Jack brought him back.”

Martha’s eyes stretched wide. “He did _what?_ How?”

“There’s this alien glove thing that wakes the dead. There were two of them originally, but… it’s complicated. The point is, it’s only supposed to bring the dead back for a minute or two, but Ianto has stuck around. So his body’s dead, but he’s walking and talking as though he’s not. And nobody can figure out why.”

Martha swallowed and chose her words carefully. “So he’s… dead, but conscious? What, like a zombie?”

“See for yourself. Ianto!” Owen shouted toward the main space of the Hub.

A short time passed before a pale, gaunt figure dressed in a suit appeared at the top of the stairs. “You bellowed?” Ianto said, then spotted Martha. “Martha! Nice to see you again. I thought you were heading back to London?”

She managed a shaky smile. “Jack asked me to come by. I… wasn’t expecting to see you up and about.”

Ianto smiled. There was something not quite right about the expression. With his glassy, dilated eyes and waxy skin, he looked like Dracula masquerading as Jeeves. “Not many people were. It’s a bit of a mystery. One you’re going to help solve, I take it?”

“I suppose that’s why I’m here. Jack didn’t say why he wanted me.” She glanced around. “Where is everyone else, anyway?”

Ianto nodded in the direction of the briefing room. “Council of war. There’s some sort of temporal anomaly spreading rampant through Cardiff. Top priority.”

Martha glanced between the two men. “And you two aren’t up there because…?”

“I’m assigned to sort out Ianto,” Owen said, sticking the pencil back between his teeth. “No away missions for me.”

“Me, either,” Ianto added. “I’m confined to the Hub.” He didn’t look happy about it. Then again, Martha wasn’t sure what he would look like happy. He wasn’t exactly devoid of expression, but there was something decidedly uncanny about him.

“Also,” Owen added, “we got bored yesterday and sort of blew up an important alien artifact using a prohibited alien weapon and almost burned down the Hub.”

“We’re being punished,” Ianto continued smoothly. “Would you like some coffee? I was just about to put on another pot.”

Owen’s hand shot up. “Me.”

“I was asking Martha. We’ve some pastries, too, if you’d like. Tosh stopped by the bakery on the way in.”

“Er… No pastry, thanks, but I’d love a coffee,” Martha managed. Ianto nodded and vanished in the direction of the kitchenette, and Martha blew out a long breath. “So,” she began, turning back to Owen, “tell me what you’ve found so far.”

Owen was staring at his screen, which was displaying a browser window with a 404 error. He didn’t respond.

Martha frowned. “Owen?” she tried again. He continued staring.

She examined him more closely. His expression was vacant, pupils dilated and jaw slack. Martha waved a hand in front of his face and got no response. “Owen!” she called, gripping his shoulder tightly.

Owen came back to reality with a jerk, blinking at the screen and then at Martha. “What?”

Martha frowned and seized his face, lifting his eyelids to check his pupils. They constricted normally.

“Oi!” Owen squirmed out of her grasp. “What are you doing?”

“You went blank for a bit there,” she said, watching him carefully. “No response. Like a petit mal seizure.”

Owen shrugged. “Probably just spaced out for a second. No big deal.”

“This was physiological, not mental. Do you have a history of epilepsy?”

“Martha, I’m fine.” He pushed his chair farther away. “Just tired and overworked. Jack’s run us ragged ever since Ianto…” He broke off as Ianto reappeared, carrying a tray. Owen brightened. “Ah, caffeine. My one true love.”

“Thanks, Ianto.” Martha accepted the mug, noting that he’d remembered exactly how she took her coffee. Beside her, Owen grabbed his mug and slurped at it greedily. Martha watched him closely, but nothing seemed amiss. Perhaps he _was_ just tired.

“I’ve left the pot on the hob to stay warm,” Ianto said. “The others may want some when they get out of their meeting. If you need anything else, I’ll be down in the archives. I’ll have my phone, so you can call or text.”

“Thanks,” Martha said again, and watched him climb the stairs. He moved with a little less grace than he had before, but after watching him die, everything he did was altogether too lifelike for comfort.

She waited until Owen surfaced for air, then put down her mug. “Okay,” she said. “Now that you’ve been re-caffeinated, let’s talk about how the dead are walking among us.”

* * *

In the space between Q and R, there was a tiny alcove half-filled with ancient file boxes. It had once housed an access ladder that led to another level, but that had long ago been peeled from the wall, leaving only a handful of rusty bolts in the brick to mark its passing. The alcove was ideally situated just out of sight (though not out of earshot) of the main entrance to the archives, and shortly after his arrival at Torchwood Three, Ianto had discovered that the flat surface of the stacked file cases measured the optimum dimensions to accommodate one average-sized archivist and one steaming mug of coffee. It was his own private nook, and it had stolen many fond minutes of his time in the archives, luring him to sip a warm beverage or make a note in his diary in between categorizing alien artifacts.

There was no cup of coffee today, though a part of Ianto still longed for the comfort of a warm mug to wrap his cold hands around. Instead he stared down at his mobile, which taunted him with a waiting phone icon. His thumb hovered over the screen for a long time before he worked up the courage to tap the green call button.

He listened to it ring, half hoping it would switch over to voicemail. He was just composing the message he would leave when the call connected. “Hello?” snapped a female voice.

“Um, hi, Rhi?”

There was a shuffling sound as she moved the phone around. “That you, Ianto?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Um, have you got a minute? I need to talk to you.”

Rhiannon’s laugh sounded harsh over the tinny connection. “Well isn’t this a chilly day in the underworld. Mum says she’s been trying to reach you for the last two weeks. Called me up last night, had worked herself into a panic, convinced you were in some kind of trouble, or you’d gotten hooked on something. I was up half the night calming her down. Finally had to get one of the nurses to give her something. And now you want to talk?” There was a muted squeal of tires, followed by her muffled shout of, “Get in your own lane, you lunatic!” Her voice returned at normal volume a moment later. “Idiot lorries think they own the road. I shouldn’t be on the phone at all; I’m on my way to David’s school. He got caught fighting, and they want me to come in. You picked a bloody inconvenient time to remember you have family.”

Ianto pressed his eyes closed. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll just ring off, then, shall I?”

“Don’t be a prat. What did you want to tell me? You’re _not_ hooked on something, are you?”

Ianto resisted the temptation to disconnect. “I just… I’ll be going away for a while, and I thought… maybe I could see you and the kids before I go.”

“Work again, is it?” He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Well, I don’t know when you think we’ll have the time. Between David’s football practice and Mica’s rehearsals, we hardly even have supper as a family any more. And what with Johnny having to take those extra shifts all this month—oh, but you wouldn’t know about that, since you skived off tea with Mum last week.”

He ignored the accusation in her voice. “What’s Mica rehearsing for?”

“She’s in the school play. Don’t you even read my emails?”

“Must have missed that one. Look, it doesn’t have to be supper or anything. I could just drop by for a few minutes, maybe some time this week?”

“This week is no good. Why don’t you just wait until David’s birthday? That’s only two weeks off.”

Ianto winced, imagining what effect two more weeks would have on his physical condition. “I might already be gone by then.”

Rhiannon let fly a word Ianto was sure would have put a blush on even Johnny’s callused ears. “Don’t you dare. You said you’d be there this year. You _promised_ , Ianto.”

“I know, Rhi, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would— I didn’t know I would have to leave.”

“Well tell your boss you can’t go then! Tell them you have a family commitment!”

“It’s not that simple…”

There was another squeal of tires, followed by another oath from Rhiannon. “Look, I can’t talk about this now. You sort out your priorities, and if you decide family matters to you _at all_ , I’ll see you in two weeks at David’s party. And call Mum!”

The call disconnected abruptly, leaving Ianto with only a softly glowing screen for company. He stared at it for a few seconds until it auto-dimmed to conserve battery, then slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.

He suddenly wished he had an auto-dimming feature. Or a rechargeable battery. The thought was absurd, and for a moment he almost felt like laughing. Did sleep deprivation have any effect on the undead?

The phone vibrated suddenly in his pocket, and for an instant Ianto considered hurling it into oblivion at the back of the archives, but then he dutifully retrieved it and checked the screen. Steeling himself, he swiped to answer the call. “Yes, sir? Yes, I’m in the archives. What?” He straightened and glanced sharply to his left, where the R section stretched away toward the opposite side of the massive tunnel-shaped room. “Yes, I can find it. I’ll bring them up in a few minutes.”

He tucked the mobile into his pocket and tried to remember whether he had filed the documents in question under _res_ for resurrection gauntlet or _ris_ for Risen Mitten, but after a moment he shook his head and faced the question squarely: What the hell did Jack want with Suzie Costello’s research?

* * *

Gwen was just leaving the conference room when her phone rang. “Sorry!” she said, waving Jack and Toshiko past her. “It’s Rhys, probably just forgot what kind of sauce to buy. Won’t take a mo.” She waited for them to leave the room, then accepted the call. “Rhys, love, I’m at work.”

“I know, Gwen, but did you try to call me?”

“Not since last night, when I told you I’d be home late. Why?”

“Well, it was the strangest thing. I was out on delivery—see, I’m filling in for Tom, because he had to take the day off to take Becca to the doctor. Well, actually he called in sick, but Colin gave me the real story at the pub last night. It turns out Becca is…”

“Rhys,” Gwen cut him off. “I’m supposed to be working. The point?”

“Oh, right. Anyway, I had a delivery up north, a bit out of town. And as I was passing the turnoff for Radyr, my mobile started to ring. And then it stopped after just a second. And then it started to ring again, and I checked the number, and it was from you. But then it stopped ringing again before I could answer. When I got to a place where I could stop the lorry I checked my missed calls, but there weren’t any from you.”

Gwen frowned. “Well, it was probably just a glitch in the system. Wrong number, or something.”

“That’s what I thought, too, so I didn’t try to call you. But on the way back, I was driving near the same place, and it did it again! It rang, then stopped. This time I was ready, so when it rang again I answered, but there was nobody on the line. And then it rang again a few seconds later. And nothing in the call log for any of it.”

A thought occurred to her. “Wait… Rhys, you said this was in Radyr?”

“Near there, yeah. On the B4262.”

“So our ghosts aren’t just people,” she murmured.

“What?” Rhys barked in her ear. “What’s that about ghosts? Oh, _please_ tell me this isn’t something to do with Torchwood.”

“This isn’t something to do with Torchwood.”

“Are you lying to me, Gwen?”

Gwen giggled. “I was under the impression you like it when I tell you what you want to hear,” she teased. “Really, Rhys, it’s probably nothing, but thanks for checking. I’ve got to go back to work now.”

“Okay. You going to be home late tonight, or…?”

“I’ll try to get out before ten.”

“Any chance you could make it nine?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Gotta go. Love you.”

Gwen disconnected and made her way back down the tunnel to the main well of the Hub, where she found the others clustered in the kitchenette around Martha Jones and a pot of coffee.

“So what’s going on in Cardiff? Some sort of temporal anomaly, Ianto said?” Martha refreshed her own mug, then held up the carafe in a visual question. In response, the others held out empty cups, gratitude scribed on their faces.

As Toshiko began to describe the unusual readings she had observed, Gwen hurried to retrieve her own mug from her desk, then rejoined the group just as Toshiko was finishing her summary. “We haven’t figured out what’s causing it, though just last night we discovered corresponding levels of tachyon radiation at the center of each anomaly.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much help there,” said Martha, turning to decant the last splash of coffee into Gwen’s mug. “I don’t know much about tachyon radiation.”

“One of the very few subjects you aren’t an expert in,” Jack added. He seemed more at ease after a night’s rest, and his wounds were mostly healed. If Gwen looked closely she could still see a faint mark along his hairline where there had been a gash the previous night, but his free movements clearly indicated he was recovering well from the other injuries.

Martha pulled a face at him, then grinned. “Working for UNIT, I’ve had to learn about all sorts of things I never expected. Though I’m still not entirely clear on this research you want me to look at, Jack. Fill me in?”

Jack’s smile faded. “Suzie Costello was an operative here. My second-in-command, as a matter of fact. She was in charge of the research on the first resurrection glove we found. After she died, all of her notes were sealed, but I’m hoping you can find something in them to help explain what’s happened to Ianto.”

“But why seal away her research?” Martha frowned. “How did she die?”

“That,” came Ianto’s voice from behind them, “is a matter for some debate.” He deposited a large, dusty file box on a nearby table, then frowned down at his suit and began brushing the dust off his lapels and sleeves. “The first time, it was a gunshot wound to the head. Self-inflicted.”

Martha blinked. “The _first_ time?”

A muscle pulsed in Jack’s jaw, and he waved a hand toward Ianto and the file box. “Martha, Ianto can fill you in on the saga of Suzie Costello. You three,” he nodded toward Owen to include him in the group, “go through Suzie’s notes, see what you can find, formulate some theories. Don’t try anything without clearing it with me first. _Especially_ if it involves setting anything on fire.” He shot a final warning glare in Ianto’s direction, then turned back to Gwen and Toshiko. “You two, on the road with me. Tosh, grab whatever kit you need. We’re going to take a look at these ghosts up close.”

Gwen gulped the rest of her coffee and paused only long enough to grab her things from her desk, but by the time she turned to follow Jack, the red door to the garage tunnels was already swinging shut behind him. “In a hurry, are we?” she muttered.

Toshiko rolled her eyes and held out one of the equipment bags she had hastily packed. “The eternal rolling stone.”

“Ugh. Don’t say that phrase around him,” Gwen warned, shouldering the bag. “The radio in the SUV picked up a few bars of ‘Paint It Black’ the other day, and Jack got all nostalgic. He shared more than I _ever_ wanted to know about Mick Jagger.”

“I can fix that.” Toshiko turned back to her desk and rifled through a drawer. “Here we are!” She brandished a small electronic device and grinned. “Selective frequency jammer. I can disable the classic rock station.”

Before Gwen could reply, a muffled ring tone sounded from her pocket. She checked the screen and frowned before answering. “Andy, is this an emergency? Because I’m kind of…” She blinked as the voice from the other end cut her off, then glanced toward the door Jack had exited. “Okay, got it. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Toshiko frowned as Gwen disconnected. “Trouble?”

“Sounds like. Come on, let’s catch Jack before he leaves without us.”


	9. Tuesday II.

“This had better be worth our time,” Jack growled. His greatcoat flared out as he stalked across the lawn, fanning swirling patterns in the unusually thick fog that seemed to cling to the ground. “Torchwood isn’t meant to be on call for every police emergency in Cardiff.”

“Andy said it was urgent,” Gwen huffed as she jogged to keep up with his longer strides. “Said it was something unnatural.”

They found PC Davidson taking a statement from an elderly woman who was clutching an antique shawl to her chest. Jack stopped a pace away and cleared his throat meaningfully, but the old woman didn’t seem to notice him.

“It just dove down on them,” she said, her thin voice cracking with fear. “I didn’t know what to do. I pulled this over my head.” She squeezed the shawl more tightly and adjusted her eyeglasses. “When I looked up again, they were gone.”

Jack cleared his throat again. Andy hurriedly finished a note in his book and nodded to the old lady. “Thank you, Mrs. Benson. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”

When the woman had hobbled away, Andy turned to the new arrivals. “Glad you’re here. This is a spooky one.”

“But is it alien?” Jack interjected. “Because if it’s not—”

“You tell me,” Andy jumped in boldly. “All these weird goings on the last few days, people reporting seeing ghosts in the area, and then today, _poof!_ —six people vanish from a public park, right in plain view. _And_ we have an eyewitness who claims she saw a big, black creature attack them.”

Toshiko was tapping information into her PDA. “Is that the way she described them?”

Andy hesitated, then shook his head. “She called them ‘dark angels,’ to be precise.”

“Great,” Jack muttered. “Our only witness is a superstitious, half-blind pensioner.”

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Gwen admonished. “It’s the first solid lead we’ve had since this thing started.”

Jack scowled at her, then shrugged his coat higher about his neck. “Tosh, get some readings. I’ll check the area. Gwen, you liaise with the police, see if they’ve got anything useful.” He stomped off, Toshiko in his wake.

“Don’t mind him,” Gwen sighed, stepping closer to Andy. “He’s having a bit of a personal crisis.”

“The captain has personal crises?” Andy stared after him in wonder. “You make him sound almost human, Gwen.”

“Almost.” She buried her hands in her pockets and shivered; the mist was cold and wet. “Truth be told, it’s been a long week for all of us.”

“What happened?” Andy cocked his head. “Or can you tell me?”

Gwen hesitated, but Andy already knew more about Torchwood than any civilian had a right to, and he was bound to find out sooner or later. “One of our team—Ianto, you remember?—he was shot a few days ago. Jack’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Poor kid. He was the well-dressed one, yeah?” Andy shook his head. “Must be difficult, being down a man. Although…” He perked up noticeably. “If you need someone to fill in for him, I could…”

“I don’t think we’re recruiting just yet,” Gwen interrupted. “Anyway, about these disappearances. What have you found so far?”

Not bothering to hide his disappointment, Andy flipped back a few pages in his notebook and held it out to her. “Names and addresses of the missing persons. Witness report starts on the next page.”

As Gwen snapped photos of his notes with her mobile, Andy glanced back toward Toshiko and Jack in the distance. “So, lately… Has Torchwood been up to anything, er, unusual?”

Gwen arched her eyebrows at him. “What kind of daft question is that? We’re Torchwood. Everything we do is unusual.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean, you know, something shady? Something that would have the press after you?”

“The press?”

“It’s just that we got a woman in this morning, asking some questions about Torchwood. Some kind of reporter, I think. We didn’t tell her anything,” he added hastily.

“I should hope not. Did you get a name?”

“Smith, I think. Susan, or Sarah, or something? I didn’t talk to her, myself.”

“Smith? Oh, that narrows it right down,” Gwen muttered. “Well, I doubt she’ll be much of a problem.”

“You sure? I didn’t think Torchwood liked to make the papers.”

“We’ve always got those people nosing around. Journalists, hoping to break a big story. Conspiracy theorists and nutters who have the wrong idea what Torchwood is. Activists trying to figure out where the crown’s money goes.” She shrugged. “It’s nothing new. Done with this, thanks.” She held out the notebook.

Andy tucked the book into his pocket. “So what do you do about them?”

“The journalists? We feed them a story. If they swallow it, they go away. No more problem.”

“And if they don’t?”

She shrugged. “Then we wipe their memories back to primary school and drop them off in Newport.”

Andy started to laugh, and then froze. “You are joking, right?”

Gwen flashed a smile. “It’s kinder than shooting them.”

His mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t!”

“We _are_ meant to be a covert organization, Andy.”

Andy looked pointedly over her shoulder, at the flashy vehicle with eight-inch-high letters incised into its metal. “Your capacity for secrecy amazes me, Gwen.”

Gwen pursed her lips. “The SUV was Jack’s idea.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” muttered Andy. “Look, what do you want me to do about this Smith person?”

“Nothing. If she comes around, we’ll take care of her.” Gwen glanced toward Jack and Toshiko, and caught herself squinting to see them. “It’s here, too,” she murmured.

Andy followed her gaze. “What’s here?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Listen, I should catch up to the others. Let me know if you learn anything else about this case, okay?”

“Right,” Andy sighed. “See you later, Gwen.”

* * *

“I’ve got nothing,” Owen announced, pushing a stack of spiral composition books away from him. “I can’t make sense of half her theories.”

“Me, either,” sighed Martha. “She’s very meticulous about recording her experiments, but her other notes aren’t much help. She seemed to think she knew how the glove worked, but I don’t understand it.”

Ianto glanced up from his screen. “There might not be much method to it. The handwritten ones are some of the last notes she made. We found them when we cleared out her house. I suppose she must have been afraid that if she stored her research on Torchwood’s server, Jack would find out how much time she was putting into it.”

“Or what sort of experiments she was conducting,” Owen put in. “She did murder a bunch of people just to test the glove.”

Ianto nodded. “And don’t forget the brainwashing.”

Martha glanced between them. “This Suzie sounds like a real charmer.”

Both men shrugged uncomfortably. “She wasn’t so bad to work with,” Owen said at last. “She was smart. Good at her job. A bit bossy, but she was Jack’s second, so that was to be expected.”

“Of course, that was before she became a serial killer,” Ianto added.

Martha’s eyebrows arched, but she said nothing.

Owen’s stomach growled loudly in the silence, and he pushed himself back from the table. “I’m starved. Anyone fancy a bite?”

Martha leaned back to stretch her arms. “I could go for something, yeah.”

“Love to, but can’t,” Ianto said. “I believe there are a couple of pastries left.”

Owen crinkled his nose. “Nah, I’m thinking fish and chips from that pub up the stairs by the pier.”

“Want me to go?” Ianto started to rise.

“You’re still confined to the Hub. I’ll run and grab something for us. It’ll be good to get outside for a bit.”

Ianto watched Owen jog up the stairs. “Wouldn’t it just,” he muttered.

Martha examined him with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

Ianto shrugged and bent closer to his keyboard. “It’s not an experience I’d recommend.”

“We’ll do our best to fix things,” she assured him. “Jack seems really dedicated to finding a solution. Not that that’s surprising, considering you two are…”

“Here’s something interesting,” Ianto interrupted. “During her experiments, Suzie accessed hospital databases and searched for terminal cases.”

“Do you think she used the glove on patients?”

“Must have done. This may correspond to the list in that notebook we found. Read the names, and I’ll see what became of them.”

They worked through the list for a few minutes, Ianto retrieving medical records and death certificates while Martha ticked off names from the list, until they came to the last name. “Llewellen, Ifan Dafydd,” Martha read. “That’s a mouthful. Think he’s from Scotland?”

Ianto’s eyebrow twitched at her pronunciation. “ _Eevan Davith_ ,” he corrected, emphasizing the sounds. “I can forgive your murdering Llewellen, because the _ll_ scares you lot.”

Martha laughed. “Oi! You people are the ones who put extra consonants where they don’t belong. So it’s… Lew… Shlew…” Martha attempted to mimic the unique Welsh phoneme and failed. “I give up. Welsh names are impossible.”

“It’s a miracle I’ve managed this far, then,” Ianto rejoined. “My birth certificate has _two_ of them printed on it.”

“Good job you’ve got such excellent taste in surnames, then.” Martha winked.

“Indeed. As do you. Think we could be related?”

Martha made a show of studying him. “You’re _almost_ attractive enough to be a part of my family. We’ll have to do some research.” She nodded to the computer. “Speaking of, how about Mr. Llewellen, _Eevan Davith_.”

“Better,” Ianto smiled. He typed for a moment. “Here we are. Born in Pembrey, 16 May, 1942… Nothing too exciting in his medical records until a triple bypass in July, 1999. There were apparently complications with the surgery, and he was clinically dead for seven minutes. Made a full recovery after that, but was diagnosed with stage three pancreatic cancer in 2005. Admitted to various clinics for treatment in the following months.” Ianto frowned. “No date of death listed.”

“That’s odd. What about this code next to his name?” Martha turned the notebook to show him. “It looks like Roman numerals, followed by a triangle. Twenty-seven delta, maybe?”

Ianto shrugged. “It doesn’t match anything I can find here. Let’s check her other notes.”

They dug through the assortment of looseleaf paper and spiral pads scattered over the table. At last Martha gave a cry of triumph and held up one of the books Owen had been flipping through. “Here’s a numbered list of experiments. Twenty-seven… Time, date… here we are. ‘Subject responded strongly. Neural activity persisted more than fourteen minutes. Subject remained conscious and became increasingly agitated during this time. Sedation ineffective. Was forced to (delta) to suppress. Regret the loss of successful candidate, but cannot risk compromising further experiments.’” Martha frowned. “No explanation of what ‘delta’ is.”

“Whatever it is, it sounds final.” Ianto looked over at the notebook. “Did that say he remained conscious for fourteen minutes? We never got much above two.”

“Until now,” Martha observed. “Maybe this is related to your case. Why do you think he was different to the others?”

Ianto scrolled back through the medical records on his screen. “Perhaps it has something to do with that period of clinical death. He’d died once already, so he responded to the glove differently?”

“Maybe. Have you ever died before? Clinically, I mean?”

“Not that I know of.” Ianto hesitated. “Although there was one time I came close. I think. I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure if you died?” Martha stared at him, incredulous. “What happened?”

“It was in a fight. My… Something was loose in the Hub. I hit my head really hard and went unconscious, so I’m not sure what happened. I might have been hallucinating. It… sort of… _felt_ like I died, but then I woke up.”

“Was anyone with you? Could someone verify your condition?”

Ianto looked away. “Jack. I thought he was the one who… resuscitated me. But he wouldn’t talk about it when I asked him.”

“I see.” Martha began poking through the stacks of paper again. “I wonder if we can find what ‘delta’ means. This Suzie seems to have used a lot of codes, but left no keys.”

Ianto scrolled absently through Ifan Llewellen’s records until a photograph of the man appeared on screen. He examined the face more closely. “That’s odd. I could swear I’ve seen this man somewhere before.”

Martha leaned over to see the monitor. “Doesn’t look familiar to me. He does have a very distinctive face, though.”

Ianto closed his eyes and tried to envision the face. Perhaps a witness he’d interviewed? One of the thousands of bystanders he’d Retconned? Could he picture the man talking, associate it with a voice? No; he was certain he’d only seen the face with its eyes closed…

Suddenly, Ianto’s eyes snapped open. “The morgue,” he said aloud. “I think I’ve seen him in the morgue.”

“But he didn’t have a death certificate.”

“If he’s here, he wouldn’t, unless we created one for him. And if Suzie hid him in Torchwood’s cold storage without telling anyone, she wouldn’t have left that kind of paper trail.” He pushed back his chair. “Come on, let’s check.”

Ianto led the way down to the cold storage rooms, relying on instinct as much as memory to find the correct drawer. After a few minutes of searching they located the body of Ifan Llewellen, reposing in a zipped bag like all the other residents of the Torchwood morgue.

“It’s him, no question.” Martha began examining the body. “And he’s certainly dead.”

“Physically, at least.” Ianto checked the records associated with the drawer. “This says he’s James Vaughn, a victim of an alien viral infection, who was quarantined here to prevent contamination. Good cover story, that; it keeps anyone from poking around the body too much.”

“If he was in quarantine, how did you see him?”

“It was my job to clean out the drawers and catalogue the residents. I saw every creature down here at least once when I did my audit. Some of them more than once. And we _do_ have safety kit for handling quarantined samples,” he added.

“It probably would have been wise to mention that _before_ I handled the body,” Martha muttered. She continued her examination. “I can’t tell without a closer look, but he might well have died of cancer. He was certainly treated for it: Chemo port, hair loss, the usual symptoms. And it looks like there was no postmortem conducted. Suzie likely hid the body down here right away.”

“Which would mean ‘delta’ is code for freezing the body.” Ianto drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the edge of the drawer. “So Suzie wakes up a cancer victim with the glove. After fourteen minutes, he’s still conscious, and starting to panic. She’s afraid someone will hear him, so she tries to sedate him. But that doesn’t work, so she somehow gets him into the Hub and puts him in cold storage where no one can hear him. Eventually, the cold gets to him, and he stops talking.”

“Apparently, the cold treatment worked. There’s no sign of a struggle to get out.”

“I’ll start the defrost process, just to be sure he won’t regain consciousness,” Ianto said. “But this may be a solution to my problem.”

Martha’s head snapped up. “But that won’t bring your body back to life, Ianto. Freezing would be just like killing you!”

“Which is better than rotting alive,” he said calmly, pressing a sequence of buttons to activate the drawer’s heating system. “In any case, it’s the first lead we’ve had. Let’s see what we can make of it.”

* * *

Owen glanced up as Jack burst into the Hub, trailed closely by Toshiko and Gwen. He gulped down the chip he’d just shoved in his mouth. “Any luck?”

“Some, though not the good kind. I want everyone in the conference room.” Jack paused to look at Owen, adrift in a sea of greasy newspaper on the sofa. “Where are the others?”

Owen shrugged and plucked a steaming bit of fish out of a wad of paper. “I went out to pick up food for me and Martha, and when I came back, they’d gone. Probably down in the archives or something. I just got back a minute ago.”

As though summoned, Martha and Ianto emerged from the stairs to the lower levels. “There you are,” Jack said. “Conference room, two minutes.” He disappeared into his office.

Martha hurried over to retrieve her lunch from Owen. “Thanks. I wish I had time to eat it before the meeting. I’m starved.”

“Just take it with you,” Ianto said. “We eat in there all the time. I’ll go start the coffee.”

Owen fished in a bag and produced some packets of vinegar, which he offered to Martha. “So, where’d you two get off to? Did you find something?”

Martha glanced uncertainly at Ianto’s retreating back. “Sort of. Let’s walk and talk.”

She filled Owen in on their discovery as they made their way through the tunnels to the conference room. “So he’s seriously thinking about freezing himself?” Owen asked.

Martha nodded. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he seems dead set.” She cringed. “I didn’t mean… That came out wrong.”

Owen popped another chip in his mouth. “Can’t blame him for wanting to die properly, though. Not many perks to being the living dead. Can’t eat, can’t drink, can’t have sex, always worried about your body falling apart… Things falling off…” He shuddered.

“Still, I’d rather be working toward a solution that would keep him alive, rather than just letting him die.” Martha sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell Jack if Ianto actually goes through with this.”

“You won’t tell Jack anything. Let Ianto do it.” Owen crumpled the paper and dropped it into the bin just inside the door to the conference room. “Trust me, the last thing you want to do is get caught between those two in an argument.”

Martha picked thoughtfully at her portion of fish. “So you’re actually going to help him, then? You’ll freeze him?”

“If that’s what he wants.” Owen rubbed his fingers together, frowning at the grease that clung to them. “It’s Ianto’s decision, after all.”

“But as a doctor, doesn’t it bother you? Ianto’s dying, I mean.”

“More than I can say,” Owen muttered, scarcely audible. “But he’s already dead, and I can’t fix that. As his doctor, the best thing I can do is to abide by Ianto’s last wishes.” He wiped his fingers roughly on his jeans. “Even though I’d change it if I could.”

* * *

Jack’s briefing in the conference room was short and to the point. “Okay, boys and girls,” he said. “Shit just got serious.”

He gestured to Toshiko, who tapped a command on her laptop. A screen at the end of the room winked to life, displaying a grainy slideshow of a neighborhood park. “This was captured by a traffic camera a block away from the scene,” Toshiko explained. “I’ve enhanced it as much as possible, but the visuals were very poor to begin with.”

They watched as the frames stepped forward. A black blob appeared, skipping randomly over the park from frame to frame, and then the barely-visible people in the park seemed to disappear, one by one.

“Six people vanished in plain sight,” Gwen said, holding up a printed list of names and thumbnail photographs. “There was one eye witness who says she saw a ‘dark angel’ descend on each person. Presumably, that ‘angel’ is the shape we’re seeing in the video.”

“Back it up and pause… there,” Jack ordered. The fuzzy black form hovered in the air on screen. Jack pointed at it. “This,” he said dramatically, “is bad. Very, very bad.”

“I assume it’s some kind of alien,” Owen drawled. “You gonna tell us what kind?” He glanced back as Ianto entered the room with a tray of coffees. “Bless you, my child,” he said as one of the cups was placed in front of him. There were similar murmurs of appreciation from around the table as Ianto divested himself of his caffeinated burdens.

Jack did something with his wrist strap, and a detailed three-dimensional hologram of an alien creature appeared over the conference table. Toshiko gasped in surprise, then leaned forward, fascinated.

“Whoa!” Ianto froze near Jack’s elbow, coffee halfway to the table. “I didn’t know we had that kind of projection technology.”

“You won’t for another few centuries,” Jack said. “More to the point—this is what took those people.”

Gwen leaned forward, revulsion plain on her face. “It looks like a cross between a dragon and a praying mantis. What is it?”

“They have lots of names. Time parasites, Reapers, Paradoxies. They’re attracted to flaws in the time stream—temporal paradoxes, causality loops, that sort of thing. Once the time stream is breached, they swarm in and start devouring anything affected by the alternate timeline.” Jack turned off the projection and began to pace the length of the conference room. “And since this glitch in time is affecting most of Cardiff right now…”

“The entire city could be in danger,” summarized Toshiko. “So how do we stop them?”

Jack blew out a breath. “The older something is, the more established in the timeline, the harder it is for them to eat. So they aren’t likely to start gnawing on, say, Cardiff Castle. But new things—children, for example—they’ll snap them up like hors d’oeuvre at a charity benefit.”

Gwen frowned thoughtfully. “Is that why Mrs. Benson wasn’t affected? She said she threw that antique shawl over herself.”

“Could be.” Jack shrugged. “Or it could be that the creature had just fed on six tasty younger people, and she didn’t look as appetizing by comparison. Who knows.”

“But you haven’t told us how to _stop_ them,” Toshiko pressed.

There was silence in the room for a moment as everyone stared expectantly at Jack. “Because I don’t know,” he said at last. “I’ve never faced them before. We were trained in how to _avoid_ Reapers at the Time Agency. The idea was that if we did our jobs properly, we’d never encounter them, and if we didn’t… Well, we probably deserved to get eaten.” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “I had a friend who survived them once, but he was using technology that we don’t have access to.”

“So what do we do?”

“The same thing we were doing before,” Jack sighed. “We try to pin down this temporal anomaly, and stop it. Then there won’t be anything to attract the parasites, and they’ll disappear back into the time stream. In the meantime…” He held up a cord with a metallic shape swinging from one end. “Tosh, I want you to see if you can reverse-engineer this technology and make an exact copy of this key.” She held out her hand for it, and Jack dangled it over her palm. “Be careful with it. Try not to damage the original. It’s important.”

Martha rose halfway from her seat. “Jack, what are you planning to use that for?”

“If what he told me is correct, it’s the only thing that might repel the Reapers if they attack us. If we can copy it, we’ll at least be able to protect ourselves until we figure out a way to stabilize the timeline.” He glanced over at Martha. “Do you have yours?”

She nodded. “Always.”

“Then you should be safe.” Jack drew a deep breath and straightened. “I want everyone working on this. All other projects are on hold until we figure out what is causing this temporal instability and correct it. You find anything at all that might be relevant, you bring it to me. You come up with a theory, no matter how implausible, you bring it to me. We’ve got a lot of outside-the-box thinking to do on this one, and we don’t have many leads. Any questions?”

Owen held up a hand, and Jack nodded. “You still want me working on Ianto, though, right? I mean, we’re sort of on the clock with him as well.”

Jack pressed his eyes shut for a moment, then nodded. “Of course. Do what you need to do to take care of the team. Everyone else, this is top priority.  Any other questions?”

“Do you mind if I run back to my hotel?” Martha asked. “If I’m going to be pulling late nights here, I’d like to grab a few things.”

“Sure. And thanks for staying. We certainly can use the help.”

“I can make the supper run,” Gwen offered.

“I’ll come with you, if we can make a stop at the hardware store,” Toshiko said. “I think I can piggyback a chronon energy scanner on the SUV’s roof dish, but I’ll need to pick up a few components. I’ll start the data analysis on the readings I took at the park, and we can go while that’s running.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

Ianto opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it.

“All right, everyone, back to work.” Jack strode purposefully out of the room.

As the others collected their supplies and exited, Ianto caught Owen’s eye and motioned for him to stay behind.

* * *

A half hour later, Jack was back in his office, poring over the seemingly endless tide of anomaly reports. He heard the familiar knock at his office door and didn’t bother to look up. “Come in, Ianto.”

Ianto did so, taking up a safe position halfway between door and desk, and Jack braced himself for an incoming “sir.” Ianto had been excruciatingly polite since their fight the previous day, and the forced formality was beginning to grate on Jack’s nerves. He didn’t need the constant verbal reminder to make him painfully aware of the tender earth burned and salted between them. Jack wondered if Ianto regretted it as much as he did.

“Have you got a minute, sir?”

“Are you speaking philosophically or temporally?” Ianto didn’t answer, and Jack sighed and pushed away a stack of rift readouts. “Yeah, I’m not getting anywhere with these. What’ve you got?”

Ianto cleared his throat, and Jack flinched inwardly. That was never a good opener. “I’ve been thinking,” Ianto began. “With this crisis, you’ll need all hands on deck. It doesn’t make sense to keep one member of the team sidetracked with another project…”

“I’m not pulling Owen off your case, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I need all hands, including yours. The sooner we get you back on active duty—”

“You won’t have to pull Owen off,” Ianto interrupted, “because there won’t be any case to work on. I’ve decided to go into cold storage.”

Jack stared at him. “What?”

“Owen’s preparing the treatment now,” Ianto said calmly. “It seems best to do it right away. Once I’m frozen, both Owen and Martha will be free to work on the temporal anomaly with the rest of you, and you all can stop being distracted by my circumstances and focus on the problem at hand.”

Jack pushed up from his chair and stood there for a moment, stunned. “Ianto… There’s no need for that. We can still…”

“I’ve made my decision. If I can’t die properly, freezing is the next best thing.”

Jack held up his hands. “Look, I get it. I do. I know you don’t want to be trapped in this state forever. But we haven’t explored all avenues yet, and there’s no need to rush into anything. Look at you, you’re doing fine!”

“I am _not_ fine, Jack.” For an instant Ianto’s  voice quavered, and he took a breath to steady it. “The chemicals Owen is dosing me with are starting to lose efficacy. We can’t hold off the decay much longer. Perhaps it’s vanity, but I would rather submit to my fate with dignity than watch my body rot around me.”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his eyes. Every instinct told him to fight this, to argue, to find a way to defeat time and nature—but what more could he say? What hadn’t he already tried? “When?” he managed at last.

“As soon as the girls get back.” Ianto glanced down and picked an invisible speck of lint from one cuff. “I want to say goodbye to them.”

Jack sagged against his desk. Another fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty, and Ianto Jones would be beyond his reach forever. It was too great a loss to comprehend. How could something so vital, so tightly entwined to his own life be ripped away when he had been clinging to it with all the strength he possessed?

Ianto glanced toward the door, then back at Jack. “I thought I should tell you first. Say goodbye before the others got here, in case… well. If there was anything you wanted to… um.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Jack’s mind had gone blank. He could scarcely accept what Ianto was about to do; how could he form the words to say goodbye? How could he tell this man, in simple English, all the nameless things he wanted to communicate? There was so much he wanted to share—things that would take _years_ to convey, not the scant minutes left to them. His pulse pounded in his ears as he stared at the floor between them, eyes unfocused.

After a moment Ianto’s shoulders slumped. “All right. I suppose that’s it, then.” He turned toward the door. “Goodbye, Jack.”

Time dilated as Jack watched him walk away. His mind screamed at the world to stop, to give him time, to spare him this one loss… All the while Ianto continued moving, striding resolutely toward his fate.

_No_. Jack couldn’t let him go like this, not without trying to stop him. Not without making some attempt to communicate all the things he had been holding back.

Three strides brought him to the door and he seized Ianto’s shoulders, swung him into his arms, and kissed him. He ignored the cold and brittle feel of the lips against his and poured everything into the contact—his fear, his grief, his hope, his affection, his admiration for this remarkable man, everything he had felt and realized and pondered but never said. He willed Ianto to understand the things he was feeling, chanting them in his heart like a prayer: _Stay. Don_ _’t leave me. I need you. Don’t give up. Fight. Live,_ please _live._

Suddenly Ianto went rigid in his arms and Jack pulled away, breaking the connection. Ianto staggered back a step, eyes wide. For an instant their gazes locked, and there was a spark in Ianto’s eyes that filled Jack with hope. Had he felt the connection? Did he understand?

“Jack,” Ianto breathed.

Then he fell to the floor, lifeless.


	10. Tuesday III.

“ _Owen!_ ”

The scream was so strangled and raw that it took the doctor a moment to recognize it as having come from Jack. He abandoned the cryo chemicals he was preparing and bolted up the stairs, stripping his gloves as he ran. “What? What’s happened?”

In the doorway of his office, Jack was kneeling over Ianto’s crumpled body. A dark stain was seeping ominously across the fallen man’s chest. His pupils were dilated, and he wasn’t breathing—but then, that was to be expected.

Owen swore and dropped to the ground beside him, automatically feeling for a pulse. “What happened?” he demanded again.

“I don’t know,” Jack choked. “He just collapsed.”

Whatever else Owen was about to say died on his lips, and he stared down at Ianto’s slack face in shock. He ground his fingers deeper into the pulse point beneath Ianto’s jaw. There it was again—a faint flutter—then nothing. He swore again. “Help me get him to the lab,” he ordered, already jabbing his hands beneath Ianto’s shoulders. “Now!”

Ianto was a tall man, but his body had lost so much moisture since his death that it weighed far less than it should have. Owen and Jack hauled him across the Hub and hefted him onto the autopsy table with ease, and Owen tore the shirt away from his chest. The bandage was stained a moist, ugly brown-black. He turned and began seizing equipment from various storage cubbies.

Jack hovered near the edge of the table, torn between staying close to Ianto and staying out of Owen’s way. “What can I do?”

“I need help,” Owen called over his shoulder. “Proper medical help. And fast. Get Martha in here.”

Jack jogged up the stairs to make the call. “She’ll be here in five minutes,” he called down a moment later. “And Gwen and Tosh are on their way back, too.”

“We don’t have five minutes,” Owen hissed, taping off the cannula he’d jabbed into Ianto’s hand. “Jack, you’ll have to do for now. Get down here. He’s in cardiac arrest, so seconds count.”

Jack had leaped back down the stairs before he absorbed the words. “Cardiac arrest? But his heart wasn’t beating to begin with. How could it have stopped?”

“It shouldn’t be, but it is. Or it was trying to. And it’s killing him all over again.” Owen held out a fistful of syringes. “We need to flush all that stuff I used to keep him from rotting. His circulatory system starts up again, those chemicals will pickle his brain if we don’t neutralize them.”

Jack shoved aside his confusion and reached for the syringes. “Okay. In the arm?”

“One in each arm, one in the neck.” He swabbed a place along Ianto’s throat, then handed the antiseptic over to Jack. “You know the difference between arteries and veins?”

“Yeah. I won’t ever make that mistake again. Hurt like hell before it killed me.”

Owen spared Jack a curious look, then turned to a refrigeration unit and retrieved several packs of blood, talking almost to himself as he worked. “If I can get his heart going again, he might even have a chance. But I can’t try until we flood his system and get some healthy blood in him. Damn!”

Jack withdrew the needle from Ianto’s arm and pressed an antiseptic pad over the puncture before glancing up from the injection site. “What now?”

“Not sure if I have the right kind of anticoagulants,” Owen muttered, rummaging through a supply cabinet. “He’s been dead long enough, the blood in his veins is bound to have hardened. Even if I get his heart pumping, one of those clots could break loose and cause an infarction. And the best case scenario still involves massive capillary damage and necrosis.” He mounted a fluid-filled bag on the IV stand beside the table. “This is uncharted territory, Jack. I mean, that’s what we deal with all the time, with aliens. Human medicine should be easy. Except nobody’s done research on treating a patient that has been dead for close to a week.” He scrubbed the back of his wrist across his forehead, where sweat was beginning to bead. “I honestly don’t know if this is going to help him or just kill him faster.”

“Owen.” Jack caught his gaze. “Ianto is not going to make it on his own. You are the only one who has even a prayer of saving him.” Jack’s eyes turned back to the syringes, but his voice remained steady. “Do whatever you think has the best chance of helping him. I trust your instincts.”

They worked in silence for a minute or two more, Owen feeding lines of blood and medication into the cannula while Jack hooked up sensors and monitors. Just as Jack was asking what else he could do, Martha burst through the cog door, heralded by the alarms. “What’s happened?” she asked as she jogged down the steps to the medical bay, already rolling up her sleeves to scrub in.

Owen answered without looking up from his work. “Near as I can tell, Ianto tried coming back to life, only his body wasn’t ready for it. He collapsed.”

“Wow.” She paused for only a second to process this, then swept forward, professional as ever. “Do you have a specific diagnosis?”

“A laundry list. Cardiac arrest, acute toxicity, hypovolemic shock, tissue necrosis, dehydration, and don’t let’s forget the sodding _bullet hole_ in his chest.” Owen glanced over at Jack, who was hovering uncertainly beside Ianto’s still form. “Jack, you’ve done all you can for now. Martha can take over.”

* * *

Jack sat on the stairs, eyes following Martha as she began chest compressions, then trailing Owen as he mixed another chemical cocktail and added it to the drip. Between them, Ianto’s pale form lay motionless amid the flurry of activity, wires connected to a dozen parts of his body, transparent tubing trailing from his arms and mouth. _It_ _’s worth it to save him_ , Jack repeated to himself. _He has so much life left to live. It_ _’s worth putting him through all this_.

He only distantly registered the shriek of the alarm as the cog door rolled open again, until Gwen and Toshiko bracketed his shoulders with hugs. “What’s happened?” asked Toshiko, taking in the scene below them.

Jack started to parrot Owen’s medical explanations, but suddenly everything was too much. “He’s dying again,” he choked.

Gwen sank down beside him on the steps and linked her arm with his. He leaned gratefully into her silent support, but could not take his eyes from the still form on the table.

“Got something!” Owen cried suddenly, whirling toward a beeping monitor. “His heart is…” The beep sank into a steady drone, and he slapped the top of the display with a curse. “Martha, keep trying.”

Martha nodded, her lips already counting silently as she began another set of compressions. She kept her rhythm as a rib gave way with a sickening crack. A moment later there was another beep, then back to drone. Ianto’s limbs spasmed. A stuttering pair of heartbeats, then nothing. Owen wheeled the defibrillator cart over beside the table and began peeling the backing from a set of adhesive pads.

Toshiko knelt down and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to watch this?”

“I’ve fought in six wars,” Jack said, his voice flat. “It’s not the first time.” A moment later he seemed to return to himself, and he patted her hand. “But you don’t have to. Neither of you have to.”

Gwen shook her head, and Toshiko took a seat on the step beside him. “He’s our friend too, Jack. We’ll stay with you.”

Jack managed a wan smile. “Thanks.”

While they had been talking, Martha and Owen had fallen to arguing. “His heart’s not in the right rhythm for it,” Martha was saying. “Shock won’t do any good.”

Owen positioned another pad on Ianto’s torso. “He’s not asystole.”

“He’s not in VF, either. Shock could do more damage than good.”

“Look, we’re not dealing with a standard case here— _any_ heartbeat is more than he’s had in days. It could be very fine fibrillation.”

“Isn’t your equipment advanced enough to detect that?”

“If you have something else to suggest, I’m willing to try it,” Owen growled.

Martha counted through another set of compressions. “Higher dose of epinephrine? Atropine?”

“Already raised the last two epi doses to three milligrams. Atropine had no effect.”

Martha finished her compression cycle and stepped back, breathing hard. “Then no, I don’t. I’m fresh out of miracles.”

Jack hugged Gwen and Toshiko close as the electric whine of the defibrillator built, and felt them flinch as the shock jerked Ianto’s limbs.

Owen evaluated, recharged, and tried again. At last he sighed and peeled the pads from Ianto’s pale skin. “No, you’re right. No good.”

Martha checked Ianto’s pupils with a penlight and shook her head. “Still nothing. How do we tell if he’s… well, actually dead? Or just… like he was before?”

Owen dragged a sleeve over his face. “I guess we wait to see if he wakes up. He didn’t register on any scans before; he just stayed conscious.”

“And if he doesn’t wake up now?”

“Then… I guess we assume the resurrection glove’s effect has worn off.”

Martha was pacing in the small space. “Not good enough,” she said. “I need something more conclusive. Look, we need some time to think, to figure this out. Can we keep his body in stasis somehow?”

Owen pointed. “There’s the mor—” His eyes flicked to Jack. “Er, the refrigeration units. The cooldown should slow any residual chemical interaction.”

Jack pushed himself to his feet. “I’ve got something better,” he called. “Silurian stasis chamber. It will keep him just as he is. I may need some help getting it out of storage, though.”

Gwen rose to her feet. “We’ll help.”

“Okay,” Martha said. “Let’s hit pause on Ianto, and then… let’s take a break.”

* * *

Once the stasis chamber had pulsed and hummed through its initialization cycle, it rested quietly against one wall of the medical bay, emitting a faint light. The silhouette of Ianto’s body could just be seen through the translucent places in the cover. Jack glanced at it now and again, obsessively checking the light panel on the side to make sure it was functioning properly.

There had been a collective breath of relief from the entire team once the stasis pod had been activated. None of them relished seeing Ianto sealed away, but the gently pulsing light meant he was in no immediate danger. It was an intermission in the crisis, a moment for them to collect their thoughts and replenish their strength.

Gwen acquired a stack of pizzas and a case of bottled water, which were consumed in mechanical silence around the conference table as each of them attempted to process everything that had happened. When they had fallen to shoving crusts and crumpled serviettes around their plates, Jack pushed himself to his feet. “Everyone take a break,” he ordered. “Take a nap, go for a walk, do whatever you need to do. Reconvene downstairs in thirty minutes.”

He waited until the others had exited the cog door in search of fresh air, then retreated into the tiny bunker beneath his office. Jack had always found comfort in small spaces, and the refuge offered by his private quarters allowed him to hide the strain he was experiencing from the rest of his team.

Well, most of them. Gwen could usually tell when he was stressed, even if she didn’t always understand the cause. And there had never been any point in trying to hide anything from Ianto, who in many ways understood Jack’s emotional state better than he did himself. But it made Jack feel like a better leader when he could avoid having attacks of nerves in front of his subordinates.

Sealed in his concrete den, Jack leaned into the corner beside his bed and let the panic run its course. His mind replayed Ianto’s collapse, the nightmare images from the medical bay, the temperature and pallor of Ianto’s fragile skin as Jack had transferred his body into the stasis chamber. His imagination tormented him with potential outcomes. Alone and unwitnessed, Jack relinquished his brave facade and let the cocktail of fear and anxiety burn through him until he trembled.

When the horrors had abated a little, he staggered to the tiny en suite and splashed cold water over his face and neck. He breathed deeply and tried to remind himself that his team was the best, that they had resources beyond human technology. That it wasn’t over yet. That there was still hope.

Jack lifted his head, water dripping in icy rivulets from his chin, and froze.

Ianto’s toothbrush mocked him from the little shelf above the sink.

By sheer force of will, Jack yanked a towel from the rack and scrubbed his face dry. He had already indulged his fear; he didn’t have time for a complete breakdown now. Too much work to do. He could mourn later, if there were still a reason to.

Precisely twenty-eight minutes after he had dismissed the others, Jack was dragging chairs from around the Hub into a semicircle surrounding Toshiko’s workstation. The team reassembled on schedule, marginally refreshed from their break, and Jack called their strategy meeting to order.

Martha, armed with a stack of notes she’d made about the resuscitation attempt, was the first of the group to speak. “Okay, there’s one big thing that’s bothering me about all this.”

“Only one?” Owen muttered into the mouth of a beverage can. He was nursing some kind of energy drink. They all needed a boost, but by unspoken consent no one had touched Ianto’s coffee machine.

Martha ignored him. “Look, we know Ianto’s body was physically dead before, yeah? Both Owen and I confirmed that he had no pulse, no measurable brain activity, and no apparent metabolic function. And then days after he supposedly died, _something_ triggered Ianto’s heart to start beating again. What could have caused that?”

Jack drew a long breath. “I think it was me.”

“You? How?”

“I kissed him.”

Martha raised an eyebrow. “Jack, while you really can be quite charming, I’m not sure I’m ready to believe you’re Prince Charming.” Jack didn’t return her smile, and her second eyebrow arched to join the first. “No, but really. What do you mean, kissed him? How would that jump-start his heart?”

“I don’t really know how. But I’ve done it before.”

“If anyone lived a fairy tale, it would be our Jack.” Gwen said. “When did you do it before?”

Jack took a long pull at his bottle of water. “During the incident with Lisa.”

Martha frowned. “Who’s Lisa?”

“Ianto’s girlfriend,” Owen put in. “Tried to kill us all. Long story. Go on, Jack.”

“Wait, hold on. I thought Ianto was g…” Martha looked at Jack, then glanced uncertainly at the others. “Er, you say he had a girlfriend?”

Jack nodded. “Ianto and his girlfriend, Lisa, were both at Canary Wharf.”

Martha’s lips thinned. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jack didn’t need to explain further; he knew Martha had lost a cousin to the Cybermen. “Lisa was partly converted. Ianto brought her here to try to revert her back to human. It didn’t work.”

“I see.”

“During the fighting, Ianto was hurt pretty badly. I don’t know if he was dead or just unconscious, but I needed him on his feet, so I… shared some of my life force with him. It revived him.”

“By snogging him?” Owen shook his head. “Blimey, Jack, you always find a way.”

“I was trying to save him,” Jack snapped, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t know why it works that way and not by skin contact. Maybe it’s easier to transfer the energy through body fluids.”

“ _Please_ don’t go there,” moaned Owen.

“Ianto told me something about that,” Martha cut in, then hastily added, “About being brought back, not about…” She shook her head. “Anyway, Jack, that doesn’t make sense. The Doctor said you’re a fixed point in time, yeah? That means you don’t change, you stay the same through time—but it doesn’t mean you have…” She gestured in frustration. “You know, how the Doctor grew a new hand.”

Owen’s eyes were flicking between them in fascination. “Okay, this is getting _weird_.”

“Regeneration energy?” Jack shook his head. “No, not like that. But I do heal.”

“I know, I’ve seen it.” Martha met his eyes, and Jack pressed back the dark memory of a year’s torture in captivity. “But the laws of conservation say that’s impossible without some outside force. So where is the energy coming from to rebuild your body? Are you somehow being brought back by the time vortex itself?”

Jack thought for a moment. “Maybe. The Doctor said that’s how Rose brought me back the first time.”

Toshiko and Gwen were exchanging wide-eyed looks. “Hold on a moment,” Gwen said. “I need to catch up. Martha, you know Jack’s doctor?”

Martha grinned. “Oh, so it’s ‘Jack’s’ Doctor now, is it? And what are the rest of us?” She nudged Jack playfully, finally drawing a faint smile from him. “Yeah, of course I know him. That’s how I first met Jack, in fact. I used to travel with the Doctor, same as he did.” She glanced around at the team’s stunned expressions, then looked over at Jack. “Unless… that’s something I shouldn’t have mentioned?”

Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. Torchwood’s not hunting him any more.”

Toshiko’s mouth fell open. “You mean… _that_ Doctor? THE Doctor? The one I met in London?”

A wry smile curved Jack’s mouth. “Yep. Same one.”

All eyes turned to Toshiko now. “Tosh, when did you meet the Doctor?” Martha asked.

“A couple of years ago. I went to London to investigate an alien crash. You remember when that spaceship hit Big Ben? The Doctor is the one who exposed it as a hoax. It took me a while to realize it was the same Doctor that Torchwood was looking for. But I didn’t know Torchwood’s Doctor was the same as Jack’s Doctor.”

Martha turned back to Jack. “Hold on. When I met you, you said you’d been waiting for him for over a hundred years. If you knew he was in London, why not meet up with him then?”

Jack shook his head. “It was still too early. He didn’t know me yet. I couldn’t risk causing a paradox by contacting him before he’d met me in his own timeline.”

“How did you know he hadn’t met you then?”

“Because Rose told me all about the space pig.” He nodded toward Toshiko. “Which is how I knew it was going to turn out to be a fake, and why I let you cover for Owen because I knew it wasn’t going to matter anyway.”

“You might have told _me_ ,” Tosh muttered.

“Couldn’t. Causality. Besides, it was valuable field experience for you.”

Gwen cut off Toshiko’s growl. “So Torchwood was trying to capture this Doctor, yeah? And all those decades you were working for Torchwood, you knew how to find him, and yet you never told them?”

“My relationship with Torchwood has historically been… complicated.” Jack flicked a droplet of condensation from the side of his water bottle. “Besides, it’s not my fault if they were _really bad_ at that part of their job.”

“You mean the Doctor was here even before that?”

Jack chuckled humorlessly. “Oh, the Doctor has been all over the place. He even worked for UNIT for a while, back in the seventies. But during the cold war Torchwood was too focused on stockpiling alien weaponry to bother looking for the Doctor, so he flew right under their radar.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I didn’t know anything about his timeline at that point, so I couldn’t risk contacting him. I only had a few hints from the things Rose told me.”

Martha squinted at him thoughtfully. “But I didn’t start traveling with the Doctor until after you’d… parted ways. You wouldn’t have known any details about our travels. So how did you know _my_ version of the Doctor was safe to contact?”

A grin slowly warmed Jack’s face. “You really wanna know?”

Martha poked him in the shoulder. “Spill.”

“I recognized the TARDIS.”

Toshiko perked up. “Isn’t that the Doctor’s spaceship?”

“Yep. It’s always disguised as a police box, but there have been subtle changes over the years. Sometimes she gets a new paint job. Sometimes the signs get replaced. New door hardware, occasionally. I’ve had more than a century to log sightings.” Jack smiled wistfully. “But I knew every inch of _my_ TARDIS. I could tell when she aged. And the one you showed up in…” He pointed to Martha, who grinned.

“The one you hung on to, screaming your head off, for a few trillion years through the vortex?”

Jack ignored the astonished looks of his team. “ _That_ one was just a little bit more scuffed than the one I’d traveled in. So I knew it must be from not long after he’d left me, relatively speaking.”

Owen raised his hand. “Hold on. Can we go back to the part about _a few trillion years_?”

“One hundred trillion,” Martha confirmed, then adopted a dramatic air and an exaggerated accent. “Well. Give or take. You get that far into the future, you might be off a century here or there, but who’s really counting by the end of the universe?”

Jack laughed, knowing no one else would appreciate her spot-on imitation of the Doctor. “Yeah, that was a nasty jump. Even buffered by the TARDIS’s shields, the temporal shock was enough to kill me.”

Martha blinked as though an idea were dawning. “So it wasn’t the time vortex itself that killed you. Of course… if that’s what’s keeping you alive, traveling through time unprotected wouldn’t really hurt you, would it?”

“I doubt it would do me any good.” Jack shivered. “And we don’t know for certain that it’s vortex energy reviving me. Even the TARDIS didn’t like me getting too close.”

“She didn’t at first,” Martha murmured, cupping her chin in one hand. “But later, she didn’t try to shake you off. That has to be significant.”

Jack shrugged. “She’s fickle? Even the Doctor changed his mind about me eventually.”

“Yes, but the TARDIS is a complex machine. She obeys certain principles.” Martha squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating. “What would make her try to resist you at first, but then welcome you on board later?”

“What kind of resistance?” Toshiko asked, fascinated. “Shielding? Armaments?”

“She sort of… _pushed_ off him, right to the end of the universe. Like pushing matching poles of a magnet together.” Martha’s eyes snapped open. “Wait. Like charges repel. Like charges… Charges of what?” Suddenly she slapped her hands together, making the rest of the team jump. “Jack, when you ran after us in the TARDIS, how long had it been since you died?”

He sat back and gave a low whistle. “I’d been dead for days. Drained completely. In fact, I’d only just come back to life.”

“Meaning, you would have been saturated with loads of energy fresh from the vortex, right?”

“Assuming your theory about my resurrections is correct, yes. But the temporal fields were a mess that day. The timeline had just been reset, after the rift had been forced open. The whole city was flooded with rift energy.” Jack’s eyes widened. “Of course—no wonder the Doctor picked that day to refuel. The TARDIS could soak up all that surplus energy in seconds. No waiting.”

“The Doctor’s ship absorbs rift energy?” Toshiko had begun making notes.

Jack nodded. “Kinda like space-time petrol. When I was with him, he used to drop by Cardiff every once in a while to top off the tanks.”

“If the Doctor’s ship absorbed the energy, that also explains why the rift was so quiet,” Gwen added. “After you left, I mean. We kind of expected the city to go to hell after everything that happened, but it all went back to normal.”

“So let’s just assume Jack was brimming with _some_ kind of energy that day, yeah?” Martha sat forward eagerly. “So if the TARDIS were using the same kind of energy, she might have repelled you, just like identical magnetic charges. She was bounced all the way to the end of the universe. But then, after some of the energy had worn off, she was able to fly with you again.” Martha whirled to the others. “Toshiko, can that rift machine of yours detect the energy of the time vortex?”

“I’m not sure.” Toshiko spun in her chair to call up a program at her workstation. “In theory, it could, if I know what parameters to set. The rift itself is a distortion in time and space, so rift energy shouldn’t be too dissimilar to your pure time vortex energy, right?”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Jack interrupted. “There are multiple kinds of temporal radiation. Chronon, tachyon, icaron…”

Gwen tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Well, from the events at the Pharm, we know that Martha is saturated with… what was it?”

“Artron energy,” Jack answered. “So am I, for that matter. Anyone who travels through the vortex picks some up…” Suddenly his eyes stretched wide, and his head swiveled slowly toward the medical bay.

Gwen was leaning over Toshiko’s shoulder as she typed. “And this artron energy, it makes you heal faster, yeah?”

“According to Dr. Copley, it does,” Martha said. “And if it’s part of what’s fueling Jack’s resurrections, that could explain why he heals more quickly than other people, even when he hasn’t died and come back to life.”

“I told you we should bottle that stuff,” Owen murmured. He glanced over at Jack and frowned. “Jack? What is it?”

“Artron energy,” Jack repeated. He was staring at the stasis pod. “Anyone who travels through the vortex absorbs artron energy.”

“Right. And?”

Jack turned to face the rest of the group. “Ianto went through the vortex.”

“What?” Gwen cocked her head. “When?”

“Last year. It was…” Jack shook his head, banishing memories of the things Ianto had said to him that night, of where that adventure had ultimately led them. “The rest of you weren’t there. Ianto and I went after an alien who was selling humans into slavery on another planet. I got sent through the portal, and Ianto came after me, to save me.” He glanced back toward the medical bay. “I thought it was just a simple teleport, but something about the timeline was wrong—by this century, the Shadow Proclamation should have…” He shook his head again. “Anyway, if that portal jumped back in time as well as space, Ianto could have absorbed artron energy from that trip. Maybe that’s why this happened.”

Owen frowned. “But if the energy makes you heal faster, shouldn’t it have healed his body? He’s still physically dead; it’s just his mind is hanging on.”

“And we don’t know for certain that he traveled through time,” Martha added.

“One way to find out,” Toshiko said, finishing a line of text commands with a flourish. “There. I’ve set up the program to use the radiation from Martha and Jack as a control, since we know they’ve both been exposed to artron energy. Now I just need to calibrate the scanner…” She hefted the scanning device she had been using on the glove and began adjusting the controls. “This should piggyback on the Hub’s security scanners. Let’s see if this can isolate an artron energy signature anywhere else.” She swung back around as the machine beeped. “Ooh! There’s something.”

They clustered around Toshiko’s monitor as nebulous images appeared, gradually refining into shapes as the scans continued. “Definite traces of energy detected,” Toshiko announced. “Here’s Martha, and Jack… and there!” She tapped the screen, then touched a sequence of keys to map the results over the Hub’s standard energy scans. “It’s faint, but it looks like the other artron signature is coming from the medical bay.” She swiveled her chair back around and aimed the handheld scanner at the stasis pod. “I’d say Jack’s right; Ianto was exposed to artron energy at some point.”

Gwen cleared her throat. “Without meaning to be indelicate, could Ianto have been exposed through, um, contact with Jack?”

“I don’t think it works quite like an STI,” Jack said without a trace of embarrassment. “And anyway, it’s beside the point. If Ianto reads positive for artron energy, it doesn’t much matter how or where he picked it up. It could still be affecting him.”

Owen was spinning his swivel chair back and forth as he thought. “So you think this artron energy is what healed him enough to start his heart beating again?”

“Or maybe Jack did that, with his kiss of life,” Gwen mused, “and the artron energy he’d picked up is what kept Ianto’s soul here after the glove brought him back.”

“Or maybe Jack’s kiss of life _is_ artron energy, and it’s not related to his immortality at all,” Martha put in. “Maybe some artron energy transfered to Ianto the very first time Jack revived him, and _that_ was what brought him back.”

“Can we call it something other than ‘kiss of life’?” Jack muttered.

“It certainly bears further testing,” Toshiko said. “This could explain that mysterious energy signature I detected when Jack first used the glove. I’ll see if I can refine the scanner and find a way to isolate that radiation. We can work with the blood and tissue samples Owen took, so we don’t have to take Ianto out of stasis until we have some idea what the results will be.”

“That still leaves the big question.” Martha turned to Jack. “Even if we can clear his system and repair the physical damage, we don’t have a hope of saving him unless his heart starts beating again. You brought him back to life once. Do you think you can do it again?”

Jack swallowed against the fear that tightened his throat. “I’ll give him everything I can. Should we get started?”

“What, now?” Owen blinked at the energy drink in his hand and sighed. “Jack, if you really want us to go on tonight, I’ll do it. But frankly, I’m knackered.”

Martha looked around at the group and nodded. “It has been a long day, and repairing Ianto’s body is going to take surgical focus. I think we’ll be better suited for that kind of work after a night’s rest. Plus, we’ll need to pick up more equipment and supplies. As long as Ianto’s in stasis, there’s no harm in waiting until morning, is there?”

“I suppose not.” Jack blew out a breath. “All right. I’ll take night shift on the rift. Everyone go home, get some sleep. And plan for a long day tomorrow; we’ve still got that anomaly to deal with. Cardiff isn’t in the clear yet.”

For an instant Jack thought there was a flicker of shadow at the edge of his vision, but he refused to look. He’d already seen enough terrors for one day.

* * *

“Owen?” Toshiko hurried down the steps that curved down into the medical bay. “Good, you haven’t left yet.”

The doctor was clearing away the last of the mess from their frantic resuscitation efforts. “Yeah, I’m still here,” he yawned. “Figured I’d get the worst of this out of the way so I don’t have to deal with it first thing. What is it?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.” She gave him a significant look. “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of the others until I spoke with you, but I haven’t forgotten about your condition. Or our agreement.”

Owen groaned and chucked a ball of crumpled sterile packaging into a bin. “Tosh, I’m beat. Can we discuss this in the morning?”

“I don’t even know if you’re safe to drive home. Have you had any more attacks? Have you figured out what’s causing it?”

Owen gave her a long look before surrendering. “One this morning. Another just after lunch, for a few seconds. Nothing since. Haven’t had time to run any more tests on myself because if you hadn’t noticed, one or two things came up. But with everything else going on, I really don’t think—” He broke off as he spotted Jack descending the stairs behind Toshiko. “Need something, Jack?”

Jack shook his head and crossed to the far side of the room, where the stasis pod pulsed with a low hum. “Just checking on things here. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Owen continued cleaning, glancing surreptitiously between Jack and Toshiko. “Anyway, Tosh, we can sort it tomorrow. I don’t think it’s urgent enough to add to our immediate list of crises. There’s enough going on already.”

Toshiko frowned and opened her mouth to argue, but Owen pointed significantly across the room. She turned to see Jack gazing at the pod, a deep crease between his brows. As she watched, he traced a hand over the translucent panel that screened Ianto’s face from view.

She sighed. Owen was right; Jack already had enough to worry about tonight, and it wasn’t as though they would be able to diagnose Owen’s condition any better tonight than they would tomorrow. “All right, we’ll talk about it in the morning. Be careful driving home.”

“I will.” Owen caught her eye. “Thanks, Tosh.”

The sincerity in his gaze summoned a warm blush about her ears, and to hide it she ducked her head and busied herself with her purse strap. “Right. See you tomorrow, then. Good night, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter posted; AO3 has been generating errors (or just not responding at all) every time I've tried to upload for the past few days, so the dramatic cliffhanger from the previous chapter hung longer than intended! I'm trying to post one chapter per day, but if there are longer gaps occasionally, you can rest assured knowing the story is complete and I won't leave you hanging forever. (Just... until the website works.)


	11. Wednesday I.

Gwen kissed Rhys goodbye while he was still sprawled in bed and left her flat a half hour early, leaving plenty of time to pick up a round of coffee and pastries on the way in to work. She knew the team would be operating under a handicap without Ianto’s coffee-making genius, and was determined to fill his polished patent leathers as best she could under the circumstances. She might not be able to perform surgery like Owen or analyze time-travel radiation like Toshiko, but she could certainly provide the caffeine to fuel their efforts.

“Morning!” she called as the cog door rolled back. When the echoes of the alarms faded, the only answer was the usual symphony of Hub background noise: The trickling of the water down the base of the tower, the faint humming of the tidal pool pumps, the whirring of the fans on Toshiko’s computers, the clicking of unknown machinery behind the walls. “Hello?” she tried again.

“Morning, Gwen.” Jack emerged from the medical bay. “Congratulations, you’re the first one in.”

Gwen examined him with a critical eye. He had shaved and changed clothes since the previous evening, but the shadows beneath his eyes suggested that he hadn’t rested during the night. “Jack, have you slept at all?”

Jack shrugged off her concern. “Too much to do. We’ve had so many emergencies lately, the day-to-day business has been piling up. I had a backlog of paperwork so deep you could have used it as a doorstop.” He perked up visibly when he saw the tray of beverages in her hands. “Is that coffee?”

“Double strength, just for you. I figured you’d need be neglecting your own care and feeding, as usual.” She handed him a tall paper cup. “Not as good as Ianto’s, but then, nothing is.”

Jack’s smile wavered, and instantly Gwen wished she could draw her words back from the air. As he glanced back toward the medical bay, Gwen shifted the cardboard coffee tray to one hand so she could touch his arm with the other. “It’ll be all right, Jack,” she said gently. “Owen and Martha are brilliant. If there’s a way to save him, they’ll find it.”

“What if there isn’t?” The muscles in Jack’s jaw tightened. “All along, he kept telling me he knew it was the end. That he was really dying, and couldn’t be brought back. I refused to believe him.” He turned a burning glare on the coffee cup in his hand. “I didn’t even tell him goodbye. I didn’t tell him… anything.”

Gwen squeezed his arm sympathetically. She’d felt the same guilt when it had been Rhys lying on the autopsy table, Jack holding her as she raged and screamed and sobbed. It had taken a miracle of rift manipulation and several of Jack’s lives to save her fiance, to say nothing of the rest of Cardiff. What miracle could save Ianto? “It’ll be all right,” she said again, though with less conviction than before.

The awkward silence that followed was broken by the door alarm, announcing the arrival of Martha. Owen followed a few minutes later. Each of them claimed a coffee and a danish before descending into the lab. Toshiko was the last to arrive, bearing her own box of muffins.

“We should have coordinated,” Toshiko lamented, selecting an almond pastry from Gwen’s box after she’d settled in and stashed the muffins in the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were bringing anything.”

“Don’t worry. It won’t go to waste. With this group, we’ll be lucky if there are crumbs left by lunchtime.”

“As long as we remind them to stop and eat.” Toshiko sighed. “That was usually Ianto’s job.”

“Mm. ’Ave dey arready starded?” Gwen swallowed and wiped a flake of pastry from her lips. “Treating Ianto, I mean.”

Toshiko shook her head. “They haven’t called Jack in yet, so they must still be setting up.” She frowned and glanced back toward the lab. “I was supposed to talk to Owen about something earlier, but I suppose it’ll have to wait until he takes a break. I don’t want to interrupt what they’re doing.” She glanced at her computer. “For now, I need to find a way to isolate atmospheric artron energy so they can apply it to the samples.”

“Is there even artron energy in our atmosphere? I thought it came from the time vortex.”

“Not the earth’s atmosphere. I just mean background radiation around the Hub. There’s so much space junk around here, some of it is bound to have traveled in time. If the tests show a medical benefit, I’m hoping to absorb artron radiation from items in the archives and feed it back to Ianto.”

Gwen turned toward her workstation and nibbled another bite of pastry. “I’d better get to work, too. This anomaly isn’t going to fix itself. You have rift reports for me?”

“I’ll send the latest ones over, along with the temporal activity logs from last night. You can work through those while I start on the energy thing.”

“Send them to me instead,” Jack called, emerging from his office. “Gwen, I need you to go talk to the police and gather some intel. There’s been another mass disappearance, this time in Rumney. We need to know if it was another Reaper. Tosh, use the data from yesterday and see if you can set up an alert for that kind of incursion. If anything else shows up in Cardiff, I want to be the first to know.”

Toshiko nodded and moved to her keyboard, and Gwen bolted down the last bite of pastry. “Any special equipment I should take?”

Jack reached across Toshiko and retrieved the key he’d given her the day before, which was sitting in a tray on her desk awaiting examination. He held it up for a moment before looping the chain around Gwen’s neck. “Don’t lose this.”

She gingerly touched it, but it looked and felt like an ordinary latchkey. “What is it?”

“It’s a part of something ancient and powerful. Reapers can’t touch it. It may be the only weapon we have against them.”

Gwen could see from the way his hand had lingered on the tarnished metal that it was much more than that, to him. “If it’s so important, are you sure you want me to take it?”

“I’m not sending you out to investigate a potential Reaper attack without protection.” His face relaxed into its customary half-smile. “But it’s only in case of emergency. Think of it as a good luck charm.”

Somehow, his words didn’t reassure her. She tucked the pendant inside the collar of her shirt. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it. Won’t even get a scratch on it.”

Jack tapped her nose lightly with his forefinger. “That goes for you, too. Now get going.”

* * *

Gwen double-checked the address on her PDA before pulling to the side of the road and parking with two wheels up on the pavement. She switched on the SUV’s blue lights and silently apologized to the string of cars that had to swerve around the massive vehicle, which was hanging well into the lane. She would have preferred to drive her own car, but Jack had wanted her to look official when she made her inquiry.

The picturesque street was bordered on one side by a shoulder-height stone wall, beyond which the tower of St. Augustine’s rose above a centuries-old cemetery, half cloaked in fog. The other side of the street was residential. A row of identical red brick dwellings with twin bay windows stretched in both directions. Police cars were wedged into several of the small driveways, their flashing blue lights reflecting off the wet pavement.

Gwen caught sight of PC Andy Davidson in a group of uniforms in front of one of the houses. She jogged across the street, ignoring the dirty looks some of the other police shot her and her vehicle. “Andy! What have you got for me?”

“Good morning to you, too, Gwen,” Andy returned. He gestured for her to follow him away from the police group. “At least seventeen people vanished from this street sometime in the last few hours. A random assortment: Adults, children, someone pushing a pram. The baby, too.” He pointed down the street, where an abandoned pushchair had bumped up against the stone wall. An open umbrella lay inverted beside it, slowly filling with drizzle. “No witnesses.”

“If there were no witnesses, how was it reported to the police?”

“Rumney Primary School is just over the way. The headmaster was concerned when one of his teachers and several students failed to arrive this morning. When they couldn’t be reached by phone, he sent someone over to check on them, and they found all the houses in the row deserted. One car even had the driver’s door open and keys in the ignition.” He shivered. “Gives me the creeps. It’s like they all just _vanished,_ right where they were.”

“Any sign of our ‘angel’ from the last case?”

Andy shook his head. “No traffic cameras in the immediate area. It’s just a quiet little street. We’re still interviewing the neighbors further down, looking for witnesses.”

Gwen nodded. “Keep me informed if you find any. Meanwhile, I’m going to take a look around.” She turned in a circle, surveying their surroundings. “Have you tried the church?”

“You mean, for witnesses?” Andy frowned. “It’s awfully far away for someone to have seen something, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.” Gwen drummed the fingers of one hand thoughtfully against the opposite arm. “How old do you think that building is, Andy?”

“St. Augustine’s? Around twelfth century, if I remember correctly.”

“They don’t eat old things,” Gwen murmured to herself.

“ _Eat?_ ” Andy’s eyes narrowed. “Oi. I don’t suppose you actually know what’s going on here?” He added an eyeroll. “Or that you’d tell me if you did?”

“I… can’t say that I know _exactly_ what’s going on here, no.” Gwen beckoned him closer and dropped her voice. “But between you and me, if you see a big black bat-shaped thing flying about, you run like hell.”

“Oookay.” Andy glanced around uneasily. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where it’s taken the missing people?”

“I…” She hesitated. “We don’t know for certain, but… they probably aren’t coming back.”

“But Gwen, this thing, whatever it is, has taken twenty-odd people in as many hours. How are we supposed to keep people safe, when even a mother and baby out for a stroll can just disappear into thin air?” He gestured in the direction the pushchair had been, then frowned at the empty curb where he was pointing. “Oi, you lot,” he called to a nearby group of police. “Did one of you move that pram? That’s evidence, you know.”

“What pram?” another PC called back, glancing around. “You mean the one over there, by the wall?”

Andy blinked several times, and Gwen followed his gaze. The pram was propped against the stone wall, as it had been when he’d first pointed it out.

“Gwen,” Andy said slowly, “am I going blind, or was that… _not there_ a moment ago?”

Gwen looked from the stationary pram to a passing vehicle, and caught herself squinting. “Oh, this isn’t good. The anomaly has spread here, too.”

“Anomaly?” Andy squeaked. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

“Sort of a… a glitch in time. It’s been spreading through Cardiff for the past few days.”

“Is it dangerous?”

Gwen shrugged. “On its own, not really, but it can have some inconvenient side effects. Like things appearing and disappearing at random.”

“Like the pram.” Andy shook his head. “Well, at least I’m not going blind. That’s reassuring. When the world ends, at least I’ll be able to see it in crystal clarity.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Gwen chided. “The world’s not going to end on my watch. Now, let’s see what—”

Before she could finish, a chorus of screams shattered the peace of the street. They spun toward the sound to see a handful of police fleeing before a massive black shadow that had appeared over the drive. Its scythe-like tail thrashed as its wings beat the air, and it let out a soul-piercing shriek before diving after the scattering humans. One officer went down beneath the creature, and an instant later had vanished completely.

Gwen’s gun was in her hand before she had fully registered the threat. “Run!” she shouted, dodging to one side as one of the police cars careened wildly out of a driveway. A pair of terrified PCs scrambled after it. There were too many people in the way; she would have to get closer to have a clear shot.

Just as she stepped forward, Andy seized her arm and hauled her away from her target and into the shelter of an overgrown shrubbery. Before she could protest, the winged form passed directly over them, then vanished from view as it dove after another victim. There was a squeal of tires on wet pavement, followed by a crash of metal and glass. A car horn droned pathetically. Some part of Gwen’s brain registered that the SUV had been parked in that direction, but there was no time to worry about that now.

“What do we do?” Andy called, barely audible over the noise.

“Run!” Gwen shouted again. “Get clear of it and hide!”

“Run _where?_ That thing can fly!”

Her mind wheeled uselessly for a second before settling on an answer. “The church! Get everyone to the church! It’s the oldest thing around; it should be safe.” She shoved him in the direction of St. Augustine’s and raised her weapon. “I’ll cover you.”

“God help you,” Andy muttered, but he took off after the others, calling for them to follow him through a gate in the stone wall.

The creature noticed the movement and spread its wings to launch after them, but Gwen took aim and fired off two quick shots. One went wide; the other seemed to pass harmlessly through its outstretched wing. Still, it was enough to attract the creature’s attention. The black head rotated, its luminous red eyes fixing on Gwen.

“Come on, Batfink,” she shouted, backing slowly away from the church gates. “You leave that lot alone! Come and play, if you think you can handle me.” As she moved she became aware of a faint sting in her chest, but she brushed it aside—a minor injury wasn’t worth her focus right now. “That’s right, Gloomy, this way.”

The creature hissed and rose into the air. Gwen fired two more rounds at center mass, but the creature only cocked its head at the sound.

Gwen swore under her breath. She reholstered the pistol and glanced around for some other kind of weapon, but apart from a post box and a quaint flower bed, there was nothing within reach.

The creature’s eyes narrowed.

The burning sensation over Gwen’s heart intensified, but she shook it off. She raised her hands. If she had to beat this thing off with her bare fists, so be it.

The creature pulled in its wings, preparing to dive.

Gwen bent her knees, ready for the impact.

The dark form became a blur as it shot toward her. Gwen scarcely had time to register its trajectory before she threw herself to one side, rolling beneath the creature’s claws. She heard it screech as it pulled up and banked to come at her again.

Suddenly the heat against her chest became unbearable, and though she knew she needed to focus on her attacker, she found herself clawing at her shirt front with both hands instead of scrabbling back to her feet. A button popped free, and her searching fingers hooked on the chain Jack had put around her neck.

The key was glowing, white-hot.

Gwen held the key as far from her chest as the chain would allow, but she could still feel the energy pulsing from it, distorting the space around it like heat waves rolling off the pavement in summer. But it wasn’t _heat_ , not exactly. It was something more powerful. And it was mesmerizing. Why was it glowing so brightly?

Too late Gwen wrenched her thoughts back to her present situation, and she twisted around to see the black claws flashing toward her face. In panic she threw up her arms to protect her eyes. The key seared her wrist as it swung past. There was a dull pressure as the creature’s talons dug into her arm, a sizzling wave of energy like lightning, and then—

Nothing.


	12. Wednesday II.

Martha leaned around the glass partition into Jack’s office. “Jack? We’re ready.”

Jack tore his gaze away from the reports scattered across his desk, and Martha couldn’t help assessing his condition as he stood and stretched. His eyes were bloodshot, with deep shadows beneath. His skin was sallow and sunken around his cheekbones, and there was a red mark across his forehead where he had been rubbing unconsciously at a headache. It wasn’t difficult to to diagnose sleep deprivation and dehydration, compounded by high levels of stress. She’d bank on mild hypoglycemia, too, though that was suggested more by her personal knowledge of Jack’s habits than her medical training. He probably hadn’t eaten in at least a day.

 He actually looked _bad_ , and given Jack’s matinee-idol face, that took some doing. She hadn’t seen him look this rough since their time on _The Valiant_. Jack’s immortality so overpowered every other thought of his condition that it was easy to forget that he was still fundamentally human, with the same physical needs and limitations as the rest of them.

Martha wondered how he would take it if she ordered him to drink some water and take a nap. Probably not well, given the circumstances. “Any luck with that?” she asked instead, indicating the rift reports.

Jack shook his head. “Finding a few patterns, but they don’t really tell me anything. I’m hoping Tosh has figured out a way to track the Reapers.”

“She said she was going to work on that after she sorted the artron energy for us.” Martha drew a deep breath. “Speaking of which, we should probably get down there. Owen’s got everything hooked up.”

Jack nodded and followed her to the medical bay, but hung back at the top edge of the steps. “You think it’s really a good idea to wake him?”

Martha shrugged, though she’d been debating the same question all morning. “He’s in stasis. Whether we do it now or later doesn’t really alter the risk to Ianto. But right now you have both me and Owen on site, and this isn’t is the sort of thing you want to attempt with a medical staff of one. I’d prefer more, actually. If I could do it without compromising Torchwood, I’d bring in another doctor.”

Jack gave a humorless snort. “If only,” he muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

Martha caught his meaning and gazed up at him for a moment. “You want me to try to reach him? I have the number.”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “It’s not his problem to fix. If it were, he’d be here already.”

“You know he’d help anyway.” Martha grinned. “After all, he owes us for saving the world last time.”

“He owes _you_ ,” Jack corrected. “But even if he would come, I don’t think it’s safe for him to try. The timeline is so unstable right now, I wouldn’t even risk using one of these for fear of doing more damage.” He tapped his wrist strap. “And a vortex manipulator is a lot less obtrusive than the TARDIS.”

“I suppose we’re on our own, then. Good thing we’re geniuses.” She punched him lightly in the arm. “Come on, Jack. You and me, we’re as good as anyone the Doctor ever had. We’ve worked miracles before. Let’s give this one our best shot.”

They descended the stairs to the autopsy bay, which now resembled a cross between a fully-outfitted surgery and a petroleum refinery. As Martha scrubbed her hands, Jack’s eyes roved wonderingly over the new banks of equipment. “Where did all this come from?”

“Requisitioned from various hospitals, medical suppliers, and chemical plants,” Owen explained. “Tosh pushed the orders through. Put some noses out of joint, but we got what we needed.”

“How did you get it all installed in here?”

“Had it delivered to the car park, then ran everything in through the access tunnel on a hand truck. Took a bit of work, but you can make it up to me with a week’s holiday later.” Owen nodded toward the stasis pod. “You ready to open that thing up?”

They surrounded the pod, and Jack triggered the sequence that would end the stasis cycle. After a few minutes of increased humming, the pod opened with a hiss of compressed gases, revealing Ianto’s pale, lifeless body.

Owen stepped forward. “Okay, Martha, you take his legs, I’ll…”

“I’ll move him,” Jack said quietly. He gently tipped the limp form forward out of the pod, supporting it against his chest with one arm, then bent to collect the legs with the other. Owen and Martha moved away to give him space. Jack carried Ianto’s body the few steps to the table as though he were a sleeping child, and laid him down just as gently.

Owen waited until Jack stepped away from the table before moving in to attach the network of sensors, electrodes and tubing they needed to clean out Ianto’s system and keep the body alive once he was resuscitated. Martha saw Jack flinch as Owen opened Ianto’s arm to feed a catheter into a vein, and she gently turned him toward the stairs. “It will take us some time to get him prepared. Why don’t you see how Toshiko’s work is coming along? We’ll call you when we’re ready for you again.”

Jack reluctantly mounted the stairs, glancing frequently back down at them as he climbed. When he was at last out of sight, Owen blew out a breath. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I don’t think he would want to see what we’re about to do.”

“I’m not sure I want to see it, myself, but it needs to be done.” Martha scrubbed a bead of perspiration from her forehead with one wrist. “Is everything set for the chemical flush?”

“Just about.” Owen nodded toward a large plastic canister on the far side of the table. “Just check that the disposal unit is hooked in securely, would you? When we start pumping this stuff through him, it’s going to be pressurized. Any leaks in the system will spray like a severed artery.”

Martha checked the connection. “Looks fine over here. I’ll prep the replacement blood while you’re monitoring the pumps.”

They went to work, forcing the chemical contaminants from Ianto’s body, dissolving the hardened blood in his veins, replenishing dessicated tissues, and repairing physical damage wherever possible. Bringing a dead body back to near-living condition was both challenging and exhausting, and Martha found herself wishing once again that they could have brought in additional staff to help.

After nearly an hour of intense labor, Owen dropped his tools on a tray and slumped back onto a stool. “And done,” he breathed, peeling off his gloves.

Martha glanced up from the blood warmer she was checking. “You got everything?”

“Every stitch, except the ones in his heart, of course. I replaced the external ones with absorbable sutures, in case he regains the ability to heal. Had to rewire the sternum, too.” He stretched his arms over his head and grimaced. “How’s that blood coming?”

“It’s up to temperature. Pumping now.”

“So we’re just about ready for Jack to work his magic?”

Martha’s brow furrowed at that, but she nodded. “Whatever it is, yeah. We need to act while the body’s warm. It won’t do any good to bring Ianto back but drop him straight into hypothermia. Should I call Jack down now?”

“In a minute.” Owen reached for a box of wipes and began to scrub congealed blood from the edge of the table. “First, let’s get rid of the disposal unit and make Ianto as presentable as possible.”

“You’re right. Jack shouldn’t have to see him like this.” Martha cocked her head to look at the other doctor. “That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you, Owen.”

Owen snorted. “Believe me, it’s entirely selfish. On the very slim chance that this does work, I don’t want to have to listen to the teaboy gripe about the mess we’ve left him in.”

Martha rolled her eyes, but helped him clean up the area and the body. When they had finished, Ianto lay neatly arranged on the table, stitches stark against his pale skin, resembling nothing so much as a cadaver after a postmortem.

“He just looks… so cold, like that.” Martha shivered sympathetically, then touched his arm. “He _is_ cold.”

“Not surprising. He’s been dead for the better part of a week. That’s a lot of tissue mass to warm up, even with the heated pad on the table and the pre-warmed fluids.”

“I thought he would have warmed up more by now.” Martha checked the monitor that displayed Ianto’s axillary temperature. “Thirty-one point nine. We’ve got to bring that up by at least four degrees before we can safely try to resuscitate him. Do you have a thermal blanket? Or better yet, a heated one?”

Owen rifled through a storage cupboard until he produced an electric throw blanket. “This should work. I used it for kipping on the sofa last winter when the heat was out.”

“Perfect.” Martha plugged in the blanket and tucked it around Ianto’s body. “Once he’s up to a safe temperature, we can call Jack in, but that may take a bit longer.” She rolled her shoulders, wincing as the tight muscles pulled and stretched. “In the mean time, it’s probably safe for us to take a little break. We can take turns monitoring him. I wouldn’t mind using the loo, and maybe grabbing a coffee or something. Is that okay with you, or would you rather go first?”

Owen didn’t answer, and Martha turned to look at him. He was facing away from her, swaying slightly as he stared at the wall. “Owen? Did you hear what I said?”

He didn’t respond. Remembering his seizure-like incident before, Martha came around the table to examine him. As his face came into view, she gasped: Owen’s eyes were completely black, the irises stretched to unnatural proportions. “Owen?” she asked shakily. “Can you hear me?”

He rotated slowly toward her, his head cocking to one side. His lips moved, but the hissing sound that issued from them was like no human language she had ever heard.

Martha reeled back from Owen, circling the table to put an obstacle between them. “Jack!” she shouted. “Jack, get down here!”

A moment later Jack appeared at the rail. His eyes went first to Ianto’s stark corpse laid out on the table, but he wrenched his gaze back to Martha. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Get down here! It’s Owen, he’s…” Martha turned to point, only to see the other doctor blinking at her in surprise.

“What?” Owen asked. “What about me?”

Martha’s jaw fell open. “You… A second ago, you were… Your eyes…”

Jack reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, glancing between them. “Everything okay? Owen?”

“Everything’s fine,” Owen said with a shrug. “I don’t know what she’s on about. We’re just about ready for you, though. As soon as Ianto’s core temperature is—”

“Everything is _not_ fine!” Martha snapped. “Your eyes were all black, and you were speaking another language! What happened?”

Before Owen could answer, Toshiko appeared on the stairs. “Did you have another attack, Owen?”

“ _Another_ attack?” Jack looked from Toshiko to Owen, frowning. “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

Owen glared at Toshiko, then shook his head. “They’re not _attacks,_ not really. The last couple of days, I’ve been having short blackouts. Nothing major, just zoning out for a few seconds.”

Jack’s eyebrows arched. “And you didn’t inform me about this… why?”

“Because we had bigger problems, and it’s not a major crisis,” Owen snapped. “It’s not interfering with my work, it’s not causing any other issues. I figured I’d sort it when I had time.”

“But that wasn’t just a blackout, Owen,” Martha cut in. “A minute ago, your eyes went completely black and you were speaking… I don’t even know if it _was_ a language, but it certainly wasn’t normal.” She turned to Toshiko. “Has anything like this ever happened before?”

Toshiko shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen.”

“Owen?” Jack prompted.

The doctor shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I wasn’t here for it.”

Martha checked Owen’s pulse and performed a cursory examination, then shook her head. “His vitals are okay. Everything seems normal. But I swear he was speaking in tongues just a minute ago.”

Toshiko had come down the steps and was watching thoughtfully. “Do you suppose it could have been an alien language? Maybe he was accidentally affected by an alien artifact that fell through the rift?”

“Might have been,” Martha replied. “I don’t know as much about alien languages as you lot, but it didn’t sound like any language I know of on Earth.”

“Owen, have you come into contact with anything alien recently?”

Owen rolled his eyes. “I work for Torchwood. What do _you_ think?”

“You know what she means,” Jack said sternly. “Answer the question.”

Owen blew out a breath. “Not that I can think of, no. Last artifact retrieval I went on was early last week, and this didn’t start until… maybe Saturday? I guess I could have run into something here in the Hub, or it could have been something with a long-range effect. But if I’m the only one affected, that doesn’t seem likely.”

“Hang on a minute.” Toshiko jogged up the steps and returned with a scanner. She spent several minutes taking readings, but at last she shook her head. “I’m not getting anything out of the ordinary. Slightly elevated levels of tachyon and artron energy, but with all the work we’ve done on Ianto, we’ve all been exposed to temporal radiation. I’m not picking up any alien tech, at least.”

“See?” Owen shrugged. “I’m fine. No alien implants or parasites.”

“Which only leaves us with the unexplained blackouts and mysterious alien languages,” countered Martha. “Not to mention the creepy black eyes.”

Jack rubbed a hand over his eyes, grimacing. “Owen, I can’t have you on duty if you’re potentially compromised.”

“Fine. I’ll just go home, and you can call in the reserve medical staff, and—oh, wait,” Owen sulked. “I forgot, we don’t have a reserve staff, and we’re already down a man. Speaking of which, we have a limited window to try to bring Ianto back, and the clock is ticking. If you’re going to do your magic trick, now would be a really good time.”

Toshiko frowned. “Owen, if you’re at risk of blacking out, should you really be performing medical procedures?”

Owen threw out his arms. “I’ve just performed open-chest surgery. Ask Martha if I’m qualified.”

All eyes turned to Martha, who chewed her lip. “He _did_ do a lot of the hands-on work.”

Jack leveled a serious look at her. “Do you think he should continue working on Ianto?”

Martha knew Jack was committing the entire decision—and Ianto’s life—to her judgment, and she considered the question carefully. “I don’t want to try to resuscitate Ianto singlehandedly. It’s too risky. If something goes wrong, there’s just too much for one person to do.” She checked the monitors. Ianto’s axillary temperature had risen a few degrees while they had been talking. Time was growing short. “I think Owen’s our best bet. Even if we had another qualified doctor to bring in, there wouldn’t be enough time to bring them up to speed on Ianto’s condition before we lose our window. We need to go to work as soon as possible for the best chance to succeed.”

“All right.” Jack stared at Ianto’s body for a moment, then turned back to Owen. “But this isn’t finished. I need you active for Ianto’s sake, but as soon as he’s stable, I want a full analysis. We need to know what’s going on with you, and fix it. I can’t afford to have you out of commission.”

“Fine. Let’s get on with it.” Owen jerked his head toward the table. “Go snog your boy toy back to life.”

Jack shot Owen a warning look before moving to the table beside Ianto. His eyes roved over the motionless form. Ianto’s body was partly concealed, but the pale skin of his chest and the lines of surgical sutures showed above the edge of the blanket. He remained there while Toshiko set up the machine that would bombard Ianto’s body with artron energy.

“Ready here,” Toshiko announced a few minutes later.

Jack smoothed Ianto’s rumpled hair and glanced up at Martha. “Now?”

Martha took up a position by the monitors and waited for Owen to complete a final check on the life support systems before nodding to Jack. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jack bent to press his lips over Ianto’s, and Martha felt her face flush warm. Her eyes flicked from the kiss to the monitor screens, torn between respecting the couple’s privacy and an intense curiosity about how the life-energy resuscitation would work. At last she compromised by fixing her eyes on the top of Jack’s head, where she could keep an eye on Ianto in her peripheral vision without directly witnessing the intimacies of osculation.

Although, if she were completely honest, she was curious about that, too. When she’d asked about their relationship the previous week, Ianto had hinted that Jack was _extremely_ talented at what he did. But it hardly seemed appropriate just now, even if she did have a ringside seat… Martha realized her eyes were straying and stared harder at Jack’s hair, grateful that her darker skin would conceal the blush from her colleagues.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected—sparks of light? Bolts of electricity? A supernatural glow?—but when Jack broke the kiss a moment later, there were no special effects. Ianto lay motionless and unresponsive on the table, and Martha’s heart sank. Perhaps it had been too long, and Ianto was indeed a lost cause. After all, it was ridiculous hoping for a miracle when—

One of the monitors beeped, and Martha’s gaze snapped to the ECG display. Another beep, and a second heartbeat followed the first. Then a third.

A profane word was whispered from somewhere behind her, and Owen stepped closer to the monitors. “I don’t believe it,” he breathed. “That’s… I didn’t think it would actually work.”

“But it did. It did!” Martha nearly sobbed with relief. She glanced back at the table. Jack was still bent low, one hand resting on Ianto’s hair, the other stroking his cheek. He was whispering something too quietly for Martha to hear. Ianto’s eyelids fluttered once, and Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Martha, a little help?” Owen prompted, and Martha pulled herself away from the touching scene to attend to her duties. While Owen shooed Jack away to connect an intravenous line, Martha set up the drip and measured medication. After a few minutes of work, both doctors stepped back and considered their patient.

“We did it,” said Martha. “We actually brought him back to life. I can hardly believe it.”

Owen’s commentary was somewhat more vulgar, but expressed the same level of amazement. “Now we just have to keep him alive,” he muttered. “Let’s hope Jack’s magic kiss gave him some extra healing energy, too.”

An arm wrapped around her waist, and Martha found herself squeezed against a blue shirt in close proximity to Owen as Jack planted a kiss on each of their heads. “Thank you,” he breathed, before releasing them to a more respectable distance. “You too, Toshiko. Good work, all of you.”

Owen scowled and shrugged off Jack’s arm. “Don’t thank us yet. After a heart injury like that, it’s still a coin toss whether or not he’ll recover.”

“But he’s alive.” Jack drew a deep breath, and when he expelled it Martha thought she could feel a little of the tension drain from the captain’s body. “For now, he’s _alive_.”

* * *

 

Gwen lay still for a while, stunned and aching and struggling to think. The Reaper had caused its previous victims to vanish instantly from their world, or timeline, or whatever plane of existence they were attached to. Had she been zapped to some alternate universe, like the others? Had she been killed?

No, she wasn’t dead; she could still feel her body well enough, and when she sucked in a breath, cool air seared the back of her throat. There was a dull, constant ache in her skull that compounded every time she considered moving. She knew she needed to assess the situation, but there was a part of her that was terrified to open her eyes and discover to what alien dimension she’d been transported. Wherever she was, it was cold. And damp. And there was a steady roar in her ears.

After several minutes, she became aware of an uncomfortable pressure beneath her shoulder blades. She was lying on something hard and unyielding. She shifted her weight and felt a solid, wet surface her hands.

Pavement, she realized as she touched it. Wet pavement. The rain was soaking into her clothing. And the constant sound in her ears was the endless drone of that damned car horn.

At last she opened her eyes and squinted up into a bleak, drizzling sky. A flower bed to her right offered a splash of color to combat the gray, and to her left, a high stone wall bordered the pavement. A few houses away, blue lights pulsed on a police car. She was still in Rumney, where she’d fallen. There was no sign of the nightmare creature who had attacked her. Her head pounded viciously.

“Bloody hell,” she breathed. “I’m alive.”


	13. Wednesday III.

Somewhere in the Hub, Jack’s mobile rang.

Jack ignored the insistent trill and wrapped his hands more tightly around one of Ianto’s, feeling instinctively for the faint pulse in the slack wrist. He didn’t know if skin contact could transfer any more of his life force to Ianto’s body, but if nothing else his warmth would impart that much more energy to the still form on the table. Right now, nothing could be more important.

Toshiko was evidently of a different opinion. She appeared at the railing above the medical bay, holding Jack’s still-ringing mobile. “It’s Gwen. Want me to bring it down to you?”

Jack groaned and tipped his forehead against Ianto’s cold fingers. “I’m busy. Take the call.”

Toshiko nodded and stepped away to answer, but a moment later she hurried down the stairs. “I’ve got him here,” she said into the phone, then held out the mobile. “It’s about the Reapers. I think you’ll want to hear this.”

Jack did not release Ianto’s hand. “Put it on speaker,” he said.

“Jack, you there?” Gwen’s voice was tinny and distant.

“Yeah. You got something good for me? I’ve got my hands full.”

“Depends on what you consider good. I’ve got a little bit of good, and a whole lot of bad.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Toshiko murmured, then put a hand to her lips in apology when Jack shot her a dark look.

“Let’s have it.”

“Well, the first bad news is that one of those Reaper things took seventeen people from Rumney this morning. Vanished them, right where they were, just like the last time. The second bad news is that it came back while I was here, and got three more. All police. It very nearly got me, too.”

Jack was staring intently at the phone now. “Are you okay?”

“Well, that’s the good news. Your special key lit up like a beacon when the thing got close. When the bastard tried to attack me, it accidentally touched the key, and somehow vanished _itself_. Near as I can tell, anyway. I have no idea what actually happened, on a scientific level.”

Jack’s shoulders dropped in relief. “We’ll figure it out. Tosh can take readings on you and the key as soon as you get back to the Hub. Come back right away.”

“Well… that’s the other bad news.” Gwen’s sigh was evident even over the poor phone connection. “One of the Reaper’s victims was driving a patrol car. When the driver disappeared, the car went out of control and plowed into the SUV.”

Jack let his head fall against the knot of hands again. Ianto’s fingers were cold against his cheek. “How bad is it?”

“One tire is nothing but a memory, and I think the impact may have broken the axle.”

“That shouldn’t be possible. Those axles are specially reinforced.”

“Well, I’m no mechanic, but I’m pretty sure rear wheels aren’t meant to sit perpendicular to the frame.”

“Sounds like it’ll have to be towed,” Toshiko put in. “Is there anyone around who can give you a lift back?”

“There are the police, but I don’t think they’ll be of much use.”

“Why not?”

“Some of them are injured or in shock from fleeing an alien attack, most are still trying to deal with the disappearance of three PCs and seventeen civilians, and the few who are actually coping well with both of those are… Well, let’s just say they aren’t being helpful.”

“How so?”

Gwen’s scowl was audible. “They’ve been taking photos of each other with the wrecked SUV. Apparently the whole force is having a grand laugh at our expense.”

Jack groaned. “Swanson is gonna love this. Can you get a cab?”

“Not easily. The police have cordoned off the whole area, and I’m too woozy to walk very far. I got a nasty bump on the head. Andy thinks I might have a concussion, though he nearly failed our basic first aid course, so I’m not sure I trust his assessment.”

“All right, Gwen, just stay put. We’ll arrange to have the SUV towed for repair, and one of us will come get you.” Jack cut the call. “Tosh, look up the authorized mechanics, will you? I don’t want to have to Retcon a whole garage staff again.” He glanced around. “Where’s Martha?”

“Here,” Martha’s voice echoed from somewhere above them. “Just having a rest on the sofa. You need me?”

“Yeah. It looks like I may have to go out, and I want someone to stay with Ianto at all times.”

Martha grunted an acknowledgment. “Just let me run to the loo first. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jack turned to Toshiko. “Where’s Owen?”

“He said he was going to get lunch before you locked him up for examination.” Toshiko held up a hand to forestall Jack’s outburst. “Don’t worry, I think he just ran up to one of the pubs on the Quay. I’ll call him and have him come right back.” Toshiko trotted up the stairs.

Alone in the medical bay once again, Jack bent until his lips were near Ianto’s ear. “I’ll come back,” he promised. “You hang in there. I’m coming back.”

Pressing a final kiss to the cold fingertips, he at last relinquished Ianto’s hand.

* * *

Owen appeared a short time later, bearing a carrier bag and a brown bottle. Martha raised an eyebrow as he descended into the medical bay. “Are you allowed to drink on duty?”

Owen snorted. “It’s only one beer. And anyway, you heard Jack. He doesn’t want me on duty as long as I’m ‘compromised,’ whatever that means.” He took a swig from the bottle and dropped into a chair, hefting the bag onto an empty instrument tray nearby. “Tosh said he took off somewhere?”

“He had to pick up Gwen. Apparently something happened to the SUV. I didn’t catch all of it.” Martha watched as Owen opened a foam box and eagerly began shoving chips into his mouth. “Oh, that smells good. Now you’re making me hungry.”

“Lil’ place righ’ aboff the touris’ cenner,” Owen mumbled around a mouthful of potato. He swallowed and hefted a sandwich. “Really good burgers. If you want, I can watch Ianto while you go get something.”

Martha’s stomach growled rebelliously, but the image of Owen’s terrifying black eyes hovered in her mind. “No, that’s all right. I can wait until the others get back.” She watched him chewing for another minute before asking, “So these blackouts started on Saturday?”

Owen shot her a look, then nodded. “About then, yeah. I didn’t really pay attention to the first ones. Figured I was just overtired, given everything that had happened.” He worked through a few more bites of cheeseburger. “I don’t know what’s causing it. Nothing medical I can find. Symptoms don’t match anything in the literature.”

“Must be alien, then.” Martha sighed and slumped back in her seat. “And I’m not half as knowledgeable about alien maladies as you are, so I doubt I’ll be much good at identifying it.”

Owen raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you some high muckety-muck at UNIT?”

She snorted. “Not that high. And it’s more of a supervisory position, now. They didn’t think having me work shifts in the clinic was taking full advantage of my off-world experience.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “To tell you the truth, it’s kind of nice to be back in the thick of it again. I miss all the hands-on.”

“I’m sure Jack would be thrilled to have you transfer in.” Owen pulled a face. “Especially now that I’m being kicked off duty.”

“You _were_ saying you wanted a holiday,” Martha laughed. “But don’t worry, I’m not taking your job. Jack and I are good friends, but I don’t think my staying on here would work out well in the long term.”

“No?” Owen popped the last of the burger in his mouth. “Why no’? Erryone likes you.”

“Well, for one thing, I’m a London girl. My family is there, and my fiance. I mean, Cardiff is a nice enough city, but…”

“Yeah,” Owen agreed emphatically. “I know what you mean.”

Martha grinned. “Yeah. And for another, it’s a bit weird, taking orders from Jack. It’s sort of the opposite of what I’m used to, actually.”

Owen snorted. “Right, because Jack is great at following orders.”

Martha shrugged. “He really is, but I’m not in a position to give them, here. It’d be different if we were colleagues on the same level, but… I don’t know, I guess I’ve gotten used to rank, now. UNIT’s spoiled me a bit.”

Owen didn’t answer. With a jolt of panic she whirled to look at him, but he wasn’t in a blackout state—instead, he was staring back at her with frank disbelief scribed on his face. “What?”

“Jack?” he burst. “Following orders? _Our_ Jack?”

“Yeah…?” Martha blinked back at him. “Jack is a soldier at heart. Has been one, for most of his life. Didn’t you know that? The ‘captain’ isn’t just for show.”

Owen shook his head. “He never talks about his past. All we know is that he stole the identity of some American killed during the war.” He squinted at Martha. “I don’t suppose you happen to know his real name?”

“I don’t, no. He’s been Captain Jack Harkness since long before I met him.”

“Well, that ‘Captain Jack Harkness’ has no respect for authority. Torchwood One, the police, UNIT—hell, he even shouted down the Prime Minister once. I’ve never seen him take orders from anyone.”

Martha smiled. “Maybe you’ve never seen him with someone he acknowledges as a superior. He falls right in line when someone he respects tells him what to do. I’ve seen it. He’s all ‘yes, sir,’ jumping into action. He thrives in a command chain, as long as he trusts the people giving the orders.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “People like your mysterious Doctor, I suppose?”

She nodded. “Among others. But especially him.” She allowed herself a wistful smile, remembering the short time they’d all traveled together, recovering from The Year That Never Was. They had encountered adventure and danger, and she’d gotten to know Jack better during the trip, but she had been too anxious about her family to truly immerse herself in the experience. Now she almost wished she had stayed on a little longer. “I think everyone who travels with the Doctor is ready to die at his word. Maybe because we all know it’s a word he’ll never speak.”

Owen shook his head. “Must be a hell of a bloke.”

“He is,” Martha said softly. “And he—”

She was interrupted by an alarm sounding from one of the monitors. Owen slammed down his beer and rushed over to join her. “Oh, that’s not good,” he muttered. “His temperature has dropped again for some reason.”

Martha tugged the heated blanket higher over Ianto’s body before checking another display. “Look, the scan shows inflammation all through the brain and spinal column.”

“It can’t be an infection. It’s too soon, and that should produce fever symptoms, not hypothermia.”

“If I had to guess based only on the affected area, I’d say it looks like Ianto’s body is rejecting the synthetic cerebrospinal fluid. Maybe the inflammation has affected his hypothalamus.”

“We knew rejection was a risk,” Owen sighed. “I tried to synthesize exact matches from the samples I took, but it’s possible the fluid had already deteriorated too much by the time I got to it.”

“It’s not your fault. There was no way we could have sourced the quantity we needed, even if we’d found a donor match. Synthesizing was the best option we had available.” Martha checked the other monitors, noting the overall downturn in Ianto’s vitals. She filled a small vial of blood from one of the lines in his arm and inserted it into a diagnostic bank that probably belonged several centuries in the future. After a moment, the machine chimed and displayed an array of statistics.

“From a preliminary analysis, it looks like his endocrine system is shutting down.”

“That would support your hypothalamus theory.” Owen plugged in a set of electrodes and affixed them to Ianto’s head. “Our neuroimaging options are limited. I wish we could do an MRI, but he has too much metal stuck in him right now.”

“I wouldn’t want to take him off life support that long, anyway.” Martha stared at the monitors again. “So assuming we’re dealing with system-wide rejection, what’s our best shot?”

“The usual protocol for organ rejection is immunosuppressants.”

Martha frowned. “That raises the odds of infection, though. He had a lot of invasive surgery; he’s at high risk already.”

“I think we have to take that risk. We can’t repeat the system flush now that he’s alive again, and even if we could, we don’t have any other replacement fluids.”

“True. I guess we’ll have to try it.” Martha nodded toward the brain scan display. “If that inflammation continues, we’re looking at significant neural damage, anyway. Do you have any cortocosteroids on hand?”

“I’ve got methylprednisolone…” Owen removed a container from the pharma storage cabinet and skimmed through a column of fine print on the label. He swore under his breath and reached for another medication, then crossed to the computer and consulted a reference database. “I was afraid of that. These can all have serious interactions with the antibiotics and anti-inflammatories already in his system. We’ll have to wait for those to clear before we can start treatment.”

He returned to the imaging machine he’d been hooking up and examined the readout. He frowned, then rechecked all the electrode connections. When he looked at the results again his shoulders slumped. “Oh. Maybe it won’t make much of a difference.”

“What do you mean?” Martha came around the table to lean over his shoulder.

Owen tapped the graph on the display. “I think the damage is done. Look at the EEG.”

“Oh. Oh, no.” Martha looked down at Ianto, lying still and helpless on the table, and tried to envision his warm smile and intelligent blue eyes shining back at her. “What do we do?”

Owen rubbed both hands over his face. When he lowered them, he looked as though he’d aged a decade. “I think we have to call Jack.”


	14. Wednesday IV.

Jack glanced at the passenger seat, then reached over to pinch Gwen’s thigh. “Hey, don’t go to sleep on me. If you do have a concussion, you need to stay awake until we assess the damage. We’re almost back to the Hub.”

Gwen groaned and lifted her head from where it was resting against the side window. “I don’t think I’m concussed. I just have the mother of all headaches.” She slapped at Jack’s hand. “And I know my legs are sexy and gorgeous, but stop pawing at them. Rhys’ll get jealous.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Jack said dryly. “Look, we’ll have Martha check you out when we get back to the Hub. She’ll probably give you some nice drugs for the pain, and if she gives you the all-clear, you can have a nap after that.”

“Martha?” Gwen raised a halfhearted eyebrow.

“She’s still at the Hub, with Ianto. I told you, remember?”

“Yeah. Just wondering why you said Martha and not Owen, since he’s usually the one who looks after us.”

Jack scowled. “Owen has apparently been having frequent blackouts the last few days. Didn’t bother to tell me, because why would I need to know? I’ve taken him off primary duty until we figure out what’s going on.”

Gwen dropped her head back against the window. The cool glass felt good against her inflamed face. “Just what we need, another man down. You and Tosh are going to have to save the world all by yourselves, at this rate.”

“Don’t think we can do it?” Jack tossed her a grin, but it seemed more desperate than cheeky.

Before Gwen could rouse herself to an answer, Jack’s mobile rang. He fished it out of his pocket and tossed it to Gwen. “Here, see what Owen wants.”

“H’llo, Owen. Jack wants to know what you want,” Gwen mumbled. She straightened slightly at Owen’s urgent explanation, then thumbed the call to speaker. “He’s listening. Go ahead.”

“Jack?” the reedy speaker voice queried.

“I’m here, Owen. What is it?”

“Well, it’s… Ianto’s taken a turn for the worse. His system is rejecting some of the repair procedures.”

Jack managed to keep the fear out of his voice, but not his face. “So what does that mean? What are we looking at?”

“His body is failing,” Owen answered bluntly. “Life support is keeping him going for now, but there’s already been a lot of deterioration.” There was a moment’s hesitation before he added, more softly, “I think you’d better hurry, Jack. If you want to see him alive…”

Gwen watched Jack struggle to reply. “I’m on my way now.”

She remained silent for the few minutes it took them to reach Mermaid Quay, though she did squeeze Jack’s arm in sympathy as she returned his mobile to his coat pocket. Instead of heading to the car park, Jack skimmed Gwen’s car between the barricades at the end of Roald Dahl Plass and parked it beside the benches at the base of the water tower. “If you get a ticket, I’ll fix it,” he said, forestalling any protest from Gwen.

Jack unfolded his frame from the small vehicle and rounded the bonnet to help Gwen, but she shooed him away. “I can manage,” she said. “Go on, Jack, go see Ianto. I’ll catch you up.”

Jack nodded and started to round the tower toward the invisible lift, but hesitated when he saw a middle-aged woman pacing back and forth over the paving slabs, fiddling with her wristwatch. Jack swore under his breath and turned back to Gwen. “Do you feel up to walking to the tourist center? That woman is standing right over the lift.”

“Don’t worry, I can get rid of her. You hop on the lift as soon as she’s clear.” While Jack hung back, Gwen shoved the pain to the back of her mind, donned her best helpful-PC face and approached the woman. “Excuse me? Can I help you find something?”

The woman’s face lit up at Gwen’s approach. “Oh! You’re… Gwen Cooper, is it?”

Gwen stiffened in surprise, but was careful not to glance back at Jack. She couldn’t delay him by involving him in this. “I’m sorry, you are…?”

The woman handed Gwen a card with her name and press credentials. “Look, I know you don’t know me, and frankly, I would normally do everything I can to avoid contacting you. But I have reason to believe you’re all in terrible danger.”

Gwen nodded in sudden understanding as she recalled Andy telling her about the journalist at the station. “I understand, Miss Smith. I’m sure we can set your mind at ease. Why don’t we go chat over a cup of coffee, and…”

The woman’s fingers played over her wristwatch again. “I really don’t have time for a chat, Miss Cooper. It is imperative that I speak to Captain Harkness immediately.”

Gwen sighed as she heard footsteps splashing through puddles behind her, and a moment later Jack appeared at her shoulder. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he introduced himself. There was an edge to his words, as though he resented having to say them. He probably did; they were losing precious moments he could be spending with Ianto. “And you are?”

The journalist’s eyes widened as she looked Jack over, but she recovered quickly. “My name is Sarah Jane Smith,” she answered. “I believe we have a mutual friend. One who… travels quite a bit?”

Jack nodded. “I know who you are, Miss Smith.”

She looked relieved. “Good. That will save time on explanations. Captain, I believe this city to be in grave danger.”

“It usually is.”

“You’re aware, I believe, of the temporal anomalies scattered all over Cardiff?”

“I’m aware. We’ve been tracking them since they appeared.”

“They’re growing at an alarming rate. Should they continue, they could threaten the very fabric of space and time. This area is already highly unstable due to the rift, which means that…”

As she spoke, Jack’s eyes slid past the woman to fix on something at the bottom of the Plass. Gwen followed his gaze, but saw nothing beyond a haze of mist lying over the stones. A moment later Jack pulled himself back to the conversation.

“I’m well aware of the risk, Miss Smith. I have my people working on it.”

“But nothing has been _done_ about it. Not to disparage the abilities of your organization, Captain, but perhaps you need more than just your people this time.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, and Gwen could see how hard he was fighting to stay calm. “Look, I _really_ don’t have the time right now.”

“ _Time_ is exactly what you have too much of, captain! The timeline itself has splintered into parallel fragments. Paradoxes are starting to form. This could very well spell the end of the world!”

Gwen could almost hear the _snap_ as Jack’s control gave way. “It’s already the end of the world,” he seethed, jabbing a finger toward the base of the tower. “Someone very important to me is dying as we speak, and I’m only hoping my medic can keep him alive long enough for me to say goodbye. So I’m sorry, Miss Smith, but you’re going to have to save the world on your own today, because at the moment I don’t give a damn.”

To her credit, Sarah Jane didn’t even flinch. “This wasn’t meant to happen, captain.”

“No shit,” Jack muttered. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the base of the Plass again. “Sorry, there’s somewhere I need to be.” He swung toward the invisible lift, coat flaring around his legs.

“I mean that literally. The timelines have changed; they’re fragmenting!” As Jack mounted the pavement square that housed the lift, she shouted after him. “You can’t outrun him, captain! He’ll always be there, waiting just at the edge of your vision!”

That got his attention. Jack rotated slowly and fixed her with a hard stare. “Who?”

Sarah Jane pointed in the direction Jack had been staring a moment ago. “You can see him, can’t you? The Trickster?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “How do you know about that?”

“Because it’s happened to me before. I know the signs.” Confident that she had Jack’s attention, Sarah Jane pressed on. “That shadowy figure who haunts you is a being of pure chaos, captain. He thrives on destruction. He’s changed something here, I don’t know what, but it’s a threat to the entire world.”

Jack stepped down off the lift. “How? What’s going to happen?”

Sarah Jane shook her head. “I don’t know. The thing he changes is always something that seems small, but has great consequences.” She drew a long breath. “When he targeted me, he changed one day in my childhood, but he made it happen that I’d never met the Doctor, never traveled in time, never saved the world…” She shuddered. “He wants to eliminate all of Earth’s defenses, Torchwood included. He destroys planets, captain. Whole worlds of innocent people.”

“How?” Jack demanded. He had moved back to where she stood and was leaning aggressively into her space. “How does he do it? Ship, time hopper, paradox engine, what?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I’ve never seen him use any kind of technology. But I do know that he needs permission to make the change.” She matched Jack’s hard look. “Someone _allowed_ him to do this. Struck a bargain with him. Perhaps even someone on your team.”

Jack stepped back, shoulders squared. “My team knows better than to make deals with alien life forms.”

“Do they?” She shrugged. “He’s deceptive. He isn’t called ‘the Trickster’ for nothing. With the proper bait, he could even manipulate you, captain.”

Jack scowled. “No chance.”

“Really?” She cocked her head to one side, watching him, then nodded toward the water tower. “What would you give, right now, to save that person you care so much about? One hour of your memories? One alien artifact? One missed connection? It’s the monkey’s paw, captain. It seems so easy. But once he has your agreement, he’s in control of everything.”

Jack was silent for a moment, staring down at the wet pavement before his eyes flicked up to Sarah Jane’s face. “You said he manipulated you.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded. “He used my family against me. I nearly destroyed everything to save them.”

“ _Nearly_. How did you stop him?”

She drew another deep breath. “There is only one way to stop him, and it will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Doubt it. I’ve done a lot of hard things,” Jack tossed back. Gwen half expected him to add something like, _and a few of them have done me_ , but apparently he was in no mood for levity. “What is it?”

“You must undo what has been changed. Put the world back the way it was before he interfered. If a bargain has been made, it must be unmade. The person who agreed to the Trickster’s terms must withdraw their agreement.”

Jack frowned. “So I just have to figure out what’s different? Where the temporal shift occurred?”

“And undo it.”

He squinted at her. “Am I missing something here? This doesn’t sound as difficult as you’re making it out to be.”

“The Trickster preys on the desperate and the dying, captain. His bargains usually involve someone’s life. Sometimes more than one person.” Sarah Jane shivered. “He trapped me in my own past. In order to put things right…” Tears appeared in her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I had to kill my own parents.”

Gwen couldn’t suppress her own gasp, and the older woman spared her a glance before turning back to Jack. “If you’re the only one he appears to,” she said quietly, “it’s likely you’re the one who made the bargain. What did he promise you?”

Jack shook his head emphatically. “I don’t remember anything like that. He’s never spoken to me. I just started seeing him one day.”

“When?”

“A few days ago. About the time…” He paled visibly. “About the time Ianto was shot.” He exchanged an anguished look with Gwen.

Gwen stepped forward. “No, that couldn’t be part of it. You’d never do anything to put Ianto in danger.”

Sarah Jane shook her head. “Whatever it is, you’ll need to figure out precisely when the timeline split, and revert things to the way they were at that moment. I assume you have technology capable of detecting temporal anomalies?”

Jack shot her an eloquent look and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the water tower. “Wrangling a giant space-time rift is kinda in my job description. Besides,” he tapped his wrist strap, “you’re not the only one with extrachronacular personal tech.”

“I see.” She traced her fingers over her wristwatch, then nodded toward the water tower. “You had better go and see to your friend, captain. I’ll coordinate the rest with your associate here.”

Jack nodded curtly. “Thanks,” he said, already turning back toward the lift.

Sarah Jane turned to Gwen. “I’ll try to keep UNIT from taking any action until we have a better idea what’s going on. I have some connections there. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to have Mr. Smith monitor broad-scope temporal fluctuation, and I’ll send any useful data your way.”

Gwen blinked; she could have sworn Jack had called her _Miss_ Smith. “Oh, does your husband work with you?”

Sarah Jane stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Mr. Smith is a Xylok. A crystalline alien intelligence. He inhabits a computer in my attic.”

“Oh. That’s… convenient.” Gwen pulled out her mobile. “Um, shall we exchange contact information, then?”

The older woman chuckled. “I’m sure your Hub mainframe and my organic supercomputer are equally capable of retrieving that information. But since we’re here,” she fished her own mobile out of her purse, “we might as well keep things simple. What’s your number, then?”

* * *

Jack leaped off the invisible lift even before it touched bottom and ran straight to the medical bay. Owen and Martha looked up as he flew down the stairs. “How is he?” he panted, moving to the side of the table where Ianto lay. His hand sought Ianto’s, tucked beneath the edge of the blanket. It was cold to the touch.

Martha’s look of sympathy nearly choked him. “He’s still alive, but…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. We’ve done everything we can, but there’s been too much damage. Parts of his brain are beginning to shut down.”

Jack’s vision blurred, and he tightened his grip on Ianto’s limp fingers. “Will he wake up?”

Owen and Martha exchanged glances, and Owen shook his head. “The EEG was nearly flat—less cerebral activity that what you’d see in most coma patients. At the rate his body is deteriorating, he wouldn’t survive long enough for the brain to heal.”

“And even if his body weren’t in this state,” Martha added, “we don’t know if he would ever regain consciousness. He was… The cerebral tissue was oxygen-starved for days. It’s impossible to know the full extent of the damage.”

Jack nodded, unable to speak, and Martha touched his shoulder. “We’ll just give you some time with him, yeah?” she said softly. She climbed the stairs, Owen following close behind.

When they had gone, Jack touched Ianto’s cheek, the only part of his face not covered by sensors or electrodes or plastic tubing. Tears burned his throat, but he fought back the tide of grief. There would be time to mourn later, in private; he didn’t need to surrender to his pain now, where the others could see. This was his final chance to say goodbye to Ianto. His opportunity to touch him one last time. To try to memorize the lines of his face, the texture of his hair…

A sob broke through, and Jack slumped over the table, his head resting on Ianto’s chest amid the network of wires and tubes that were keeping his body from shutting down. “Please,” he breathed, the words muffled by the blanket. “Don’t go.” His fists twisted into the warm fabric. “Please don’t leave me. Not yet.”

As though in answer, the chest beneath his head heaved, issuing a wracking cough that trailed into a gurgle. Jack reeled back, afraid he’d done some damage, but an instant later he was diving forward to catch Ianto’s hand as the pale fingers scrabbled at the edge of the table.

“Owen!” he shouted. “Martha!” Jack clutched the hand to his chest and leaned over the table, staring in amazement into Ianto’s wild, searching eyes. When his gaze settled on Jack, Ianto calmed somewhat, though his free hand still tugged weakly at the oxygen mask covering his face.

“What in the name of…” Martha appeared at the other side of the table and gaped at Ianto, then at Jack. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know,” Jack breathed, still awestruck by Ianto’s open, alert eyes. “I think he wants to say something.”

Martha checked the monitors before lifting the mask from Ianto’s face. Ianto gasped and coughed a few times. “Jack,” he wheezed. His hand clutched feebly at the blanket over his sternum, where Martha’s chest compressions had broken a rib. He inhaled slowly and tried again, his voice stronger. “Jack, what’s happened?”

“I… You were…” Jack stammered. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“You’re crying,” Ianto observed, as though Jack’s emotional state were of any import right now.

Jack’s only reply was a sob. He seemed to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences, and he didn’t care. Ianto was alive, Ianto was speaking to him, Ianto was holding his hand, everything was going to be okay…

Then the monitors shrieked, and Ianto’s entire body went slack, his eyes sliding closed as his head fell back against the table. Ianto’s hand slipped limply from Jack’s to dangle off the side of the table.

“No!” Jack cried, seizing Ianto’s arm. Distantly he was aware of Martha pressing buttons, moving equipment, calling for Owen, but all he could see was Ianto’s pale, unresponsive face. He fixed his eyes on it, never moving his gaze, not even blinking until Martha moved him bodily aside so she could reach her patient.

* * *

Toshiko’s hand fumbled across the table, passing over something cold and metallic. The guns were locked in the armory, but she hoped whatever Gwen had left sitting on her workstation would aid in her defense. “Please, Owen,” she begged, not taking her eyes from his face. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Owen’s answer was an incomprehensible hiss of garbled syllables. His unnaturally black eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, head swiveling and tilting like a serpent orienting on its prey.

“Jack!” Toshiko cried again, hoping he heard her this time. She could hear faint sounds from the medical bay; Jack and Martha were apparently engaged in their own emergency. She would have to deal with Owen, or whatever he had become, on her own. Her fingers closed over the object on Gwen’s desk.

“Don’t make me use this!” she shouted, swinging the improvised weapon around in front of her. Owen tilted his head to examine the object, and in dismay Toshiko realized she was wielding a stapler. A shriek escaped her throat as one of Owen’s hands closed on her wrist, and as he moved closer, she threw up the other arm to protect her face.

A few seconds passed, and the vise grip on her wrist eased. Toshiko peeked beneath her arm to see Owen blinking slightly bloodshot brown eyes. His gaze shifted to their hands, and his brow furrowed.

“Uh, Tosh?” Owen’s voice wavered a bit. “Why are we fighting over a stapler?”

Toshiko sagged in relief and quickly replaced the stapler on Gwen’s desk. “Owen, you frightened me half to death.” She sank into Gwen’s desk chair, but kept her eyes fixed on Owen in case he changed again.

Owen seemed to sense her wariness, and took a step backward. “I blacked out again, didn’t I?”

Toshiko nodded. “But this time, it was just like Martha said—your eyes went black, and you spoke in some alien language. And…” She bit her lip. “And you tried to attack me.”

“I saw… I don’t know, it was like being in another world, or something. Like here, but different.” Owen swore under his breath and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Jack was right,” he muttered. “I’m compromised.” Suddenly he seemed to absorb the rest of Toshiko’s words. “Shit, Tosh, I’m sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Toshiko quickly shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up. But we need to tell Jack.”

“Right,” Owen sighed. “Where is he?”

“He went down to see Ianto, but I think something might have happened. I heard him shouting about the same time you went…” She waved her hand to indicate his eyes. “Anyway, we’d better get down there.”

Martha met them at the top of the stairs. Before either of them could speak, Martha seized Owen by the lapel of his lab coat. “Where were you?” she hissed. “I’ve been calling for you. We needed you down there.”

Owen glanced at Toshiko. “I… I blacked out. I was just coming to find you. What happened?”

Martha released his coat and rubbed her eyes, which Toshiko could see now were bright with unshed tears. “Ianto woke up. Just for a moment.”

Toshiko gasped, and Owen stifled an oath. “That shouldn’t have been possible. How did he…?”

“And then he relapsed,” Martha cut him off. “Even worse than before. He went into shock, then cardiac arrest. And…” Her voice broke, and she steadied herself with a few deep breaths before continuing. “And Jack was there for the whole thing. Seeing Ianto come back to life, and then seeing him collapse again… He just…”

Owen whirled away to vent his anger and frustration in violence directed at some inanimate object, but Toshiko crept to the railing surrounding the medical bay and peered over it. Ianto lay motionless on the table, as he had before. A gray-coated figure was draped across his form, shoulders hitching every few seconds as silent sobs shook Jack’s body. Shame filled her at witnessing such a profound, personal display of grief, and she quickly turned away.

Toshiko was almost certain of the answer, but she could hardly bring herself to ask the question. “Is he dead?” she whispered to Martha.

“Life support is keeping his heart going, but his EEG is totally flat now.” Martha shook her head. “Someone needs to make the call.”

Owen ran a hand through his hair. “Wouldn’t that be Jack? He’s closer to Ianto than any of us, and he has final authority.”

“But Ianto has family,” Toshiko said, blinking back her tears. “A sister, I think. She should at least be notified. I’ll check his records.” She moved to her workstation to pull up the personnel files, grateful for something practical to do, but froze when she saw the graph that dominated one of the displays. “What on earth?” She slid into her chair and began typing furiously.

“What is it?” Martha peered over Toshiko’s shoulder.

“This energy reading. Something big happened, just a few minutes ago. Look at the readout.” She indicated a dramatic spike on the chart.

The alarms sounded as the cog door rolled back, admitting Gwen and an older woman Toshiko didn’t recognize. “Sorry it took so long,” Gwen called to no one in particular. “I can’t walk too fast or my head lights up.” She led the new woman over to the others and waved a hand toward each person as she introduced them. “Toshiko Sato, our tech genius; Dr. Martha Jones, on loan from UNIT; Dr. Owen Harper, our medic. This is Sarah Jane Smith, journalist and alien expert, apparently. Jack says we’re to work with her on our anomaly problem.”

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you all. But…” Sarah Jane took a closer look at the three of them. “I’m sorry, have we interrupted something?”

“You could say,” Owen drawled bitterly. “Ianto’s relapsed, Jack’s a wreck, I’m probably possessed by an alien, and Tosh is the only regular member of Torchwood who is actually fit for duty.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “No, not Ianto,” she moaned. “Is he still… is he… gone?”

The hard lines around Owen’s mouth belied his casual shrug. “We haven’t turned off life support, but for all intents and purposes, it’s over.”

Tears flooded Gwen’s eyes. “Oh, Ianto. And poor Jack! Is he with him?” She turned toward the medical bay.

“Don’t,” Toshiko said sharply. Gwen jerked back in surprise, and Toshiko softened her tone. “Don’t go down there yet. Jack needs time to say goodbye.”

Gwen’s lips pursed in a stubborn frown, but after a moment she reconsidered and joined the group around Toshiko’s workstation. “So what can we do?”

Toshiko glanced up at her. “I’m not sure you should be doing anything. Don’t you have a concussion?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’d better be sure. I’ll take a look.” Martha took Gwen’s arm and led her to the sofa.

“Normally that would leave me in charge, but…” Owen exchanged a look with Toshiko. “I think you’ll have to take point, Tosh.”

Tosh drew a deep breath and expelled it to focus herself. “Right. We need to check if that surge a few minutes ago brought anything through the rift.”

Owen dragged a chair over and dropped into it. “Even if it did, can we do anything about it? Except for you and Martha, we’re all walking wounded.”

“Fair point,” Toshiko acknowledged. She thought for a moment, then turned toward the sofa. “Gwen, I’ll need to scan you and that key so I can figure out what happened with the Reaper.”

“As soon as Martha’s done with me,” Gwen called. “Do you want…” Her voice trailed off.

Toshiko turned to see why she had stopped speaking and caught sight of Jack, hollow-eyed and low-shouldered, standing at the top of the stairs. As one they all rose to attention, waiting for him to speak.

“We’re going to say our final farewells to Ianto,” Jack said, his voice as empty as his eyes. “Owen, I believe you already had a space prepared?”

Owen nodded. “Yeah. Number thirteen. He picked it out himself.”

“Then we’ll meet in the morgue in ten minutes. Martha?”

Martha stepped forward, hands clasped tightly before her. “Yes?”

Even at a distance, Toshiko could see Jack’s hands shaking as he indicated the medical bay. “It’s time.”


	15. Wednesday V.

Gwen slumped on the sofa, staring into near space until something warm was pushed into her hand. She blinked down at the mug of tea, then traced the arm offering it to the gently smiling face of Sarah Jane Smith.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sarah Jane said. “I borrowed your kitchenette. I thought you might need a cup.”

“Thank you,” Gwen murmured, sipping the tea. The warm mug suddenly reminded her of Ianto, and a fresh wave of tears threatened. She blinked them back and smiled up at Sarah Jane. “It’s not always like this,” she said. “Really, we have good days, too. It’s just…” She made an expansive gesture. “Everything, all at once.”

“I know how hard it is to lose someone.” Sarah Jane sat beside her on the sofa. “Were you close?”

Gwen nodded. “We all are, here. It’s just the five of us. We’re a team. And Ianto… Ianto was the one who always looked after us, brought us coffee, talked us down when we got upset…” She sniffed, remembering all the times his calm, rational discourse had settled her after she’d argued with Jack. “I don’t know how we’ll manage without him. Especially Jack. Poor Jack, he must be heartbroken.”

Sarah Jane nodded. “I got the impression they were very close.”

“They were lovers.”

“Ah. That explains a lot.” At Gwen’s questioning look, Sarah Jane pointed upward, toward the Plass. “When we met, I thought he seemed awfully unconcerned about the fate of the world for someone who was charged with defending it. But knowing someone you love is in danger can change your priorities.”

Gwen remembered how she’d rebelled against Jack when Rhys’s life had been at stake, and nodded. “It certainly can.” She wrapped her hands around the mug and sighed. “I suppose we’d better head down soon.”

Sarah Jane hesitated. “Should I wait up here, or…?”

“I don’t think anyone would mind if you came down. It won’t be a formal funeral.”

“You’re certain I won’t be intruding?”

Gwen shook her head, then winced when the motion set off the pounding again.

Sarah Jane bent toward her in concern. “Are you sure you’re all right? How’s your head feeling?”

Gwen put a hand to the lump on the back of her skull. “Martha gave me some pills for the pain, but they haven’t had time to start working yet. She said it’s only a grade one concussion, so that’s good, but I should still take it easy for a day or two to be sure no other symptoms appear.” She sighed. “As though it were possible to ‘take it easy’ in Torchwood.”

She let Sarah Jane support her arm as she stood, then led the way to the lift. They rode down to the morgue in silence. When they arrived, they found the others grouped in a semicircle around an open drawer, where Ianto’s body lay half enclosed by a translucent bag.

Sarah Jane retired to a respectful distance while Gwen joined the rest of the team. They took turns standing beside the drawer, reflecting silently or whispering their goodbyes. Jack was the last to approach, and he bent to kiss Ianto’s forehead with such tenderness that fresh tears sprang to Gwen’s eyes.

When Jack reached for the zipper, Gwen heard her emotions echoed aloud beside her, and she put an arm around Toshiko. Crying softly, they leaned together for support as Jack began to seal the bag.

Then the bag moved.

Martha smothered a shriek, and Jack jerked back from the drawer in surprise. After a moment of shock, he fumbled the zipper open again. Ianto’s hands flailed through the gap, pushing the plastic aside as he clawed for purchase.

Jack staggered back against the wall of steel doors, eyes wide with hope and fear. “Ianto?”

Ianto’s eyes swept frantically from side to side, taking in the startled faces around him. “You’re putting me in the morgue?” His head swiveled toward Jack. “What the hell, Jack?”

“You were dead!” Jack cried.

“I’m not. I’m _really_ not.” Ianto pushed himself upright, then stopped, glancing down at the bag covering his lower torso. “Bloody hell. What’ve you done with my trousers?”

“Ianto…” Jack began to reach for him, but a strangled cry sounded from across the room. Gwen whirled to find Owen and Toshiko struggling. Owen’s eyes were horribly black, and he hissed something unintelligible as he scrabbled for a better grip on Toshiko’s neck.

Gwen ducked under one of Toshiko’s flailing arms and swung her fist at the side of Owen’s head. The impact of the blow jarred her shoulder and set bells clanging in the back of her skull, and she staggered. Martha caught her shoulders and hauled her out of the way of Owen’s return swing.

Gwen’s strike had distracted Owen enough for Toshiko to slip free, and now he was twisting between Martha and Sarah Jane, who had joined the fray. Martha brandished the clipboard she’d been carrying—Ianto’s termination paperwork—while Sarah Jane wielded a metal tray she’d found somewhere in the room. Owen dove for Toshiko again, and Sarah Jane swung the tray. There was a resounding _clang_ as it made hard contact with Owen’s forehead, snapping his head back. He reeled, then turned on the older woman. Martha rammed the clipboard into the back of one of his knees, which buckled. Owen regained his footing, spun, and launched himself at her.

Jack tore himself away from the revived Ianto and vaulted the extended morgue drawer to put himself in line with Owen’s charge. A well-placed fist knocked Owen into the wall, while Martha yanked the steel door beside him open and swung it, hard. There was metallic crash as the door flew back and struck Owen’s head. He slid to the floor and did not move. Sarah Jane stood over his body, tray at the ready, until it was clear that he would not rise again.

Toshiko knelt and lifted one of Owen’s eyelids, releasing a sigh of relief when an ordinary brown iris was revealed. “He’s back to normal,” she said.

“Watch him,” Jack ordered, and spun back to Ianto—but Ianto’s body was slumped over the side of the drawer, one lifeless arm trailing to the floor.

* * *

“Something is causing this,” Jack said curtly, “and we need to find out what.”

They had reassembled in the briefing room after a short recess, during which the unconscious Owen was locked in the vaults, and the lifeless Ianto was placed back in the medical bay. Gwen held an ice pack on her head, Toshiko wore a plaster over a vicious scratch on her neck, and Jack looked as though he would very much like to crawl into his bunker and lock out the rest of the world for the foreseeable future.

Martha had escaped the incident unscathed, and Sarah Jane had made tea for the lot of them, but now they all sat in exhausted silence around the conference table.

Toshiko was the first to respond. “Both times Owen tried to attack me coincided exactly with Ianto’s regaining consciousness.”

Jack raised his head. “You think whatever is controlling Owen is bringing Ianto back to life?”

“Not necessarily, but there does seem to be a correlation. Some external force may be affecting both Ianto and Owen’s conditions.”

Martha looked thoughtfully at Toshiko. “Didn’t you say there was some spike in your readings around the time Ianto woke up?”

Toshiko reached for the keyboard that controlled the screens at the end of the room and remotely accessed her monitoring programs. “There!” she used the cursor to circle a peak on the graph. “This was the first time Owen attacked me. And this one,” she scrolled along the graph and indicated another high point, “is approximately the time we were down in the morgue. Both incidents coincided with surges in rift activity.”

“So it’s definitely related to the rift,” Gwen mused. “But it’s affecting them in totally different ways.”

“But you have rift surges all the time, don’t you?” Sarah Jane put in. “Just to be clear, what are the odds that this could be a coincidence?”

“Pretty low, actually,” Toshiko answered. “Considering Owen said his blackouts started around Saturday, which is right after Ianto came back to life the first time, I’d say the incidents are very likely related to some change in the rift at that point.”

“Which is also about the time that we started seeing the temporal anomalies.” Jack glanced over at Sarah Jane. “Miss Smith? You said you knew what—or who—was causing this. Care to contribute?”

Sarah Jane spread her hands. “I believe an entity called the Trickster changed something in the timeline. I don’t know what, nor do I know how it would have affected the rift, or everything else you’re monitoring. What I do know is that until you rectify that change, the timeline will likely continue to splinter until it reaches critical divergence.”

Gwen frowned. “What happens then?”

Jack mimed an explosion with his fingers. “Goodbye, space-time. Hello, Reapers. So long, planet Earth.”

A speaker on the table crackled to life. “ _No big stakes or anything, then,_ ” muttered Owen’s dry tone.

Jack leaned forward. “Nice of you to join us, Owen. I wondered how long it would take you to find the comm unit I left you. You comfortable?”

“ _I have a bruise on my forehead the size of your bloody ego, and you’ve left me in the cell next to Janet. What do you think?_ ”

“You’re a risk to the rest of us while you’re at liberty. Had to make sure you weren’t going to try to kill any of us when you woke up.”

“ _Yeah, sorry about that._ ” Owen actually sounded contrite. “ _Is everyone okay?_ ”

“No permanent damage.”

“ _Good. Have we learned anything?_ ”

“Only that your personality swap seems to be related to rift activity. Anything you can share?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the radio. “ _Let me get back to you on that,_ ” Owen said at last. “ _Still trying to work it out._ ”

Jack leaned back in his seat. “Tosh, how long will it take you to run a comparative data analysis on all the energy readings we’ve taken since last Thursday?”

Toshiko thought for a moment. “Factoring in all energy types, local scans, and the on-site readings we’ve taken, at least three to four hours. Plus, I still need to take readings and analyze that key you gave Gwen, so we can figure out how to stop those Reaper things.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Sarah Jane offered. “I have a sentient alien supercomputer. If we can sync your system to Mr. Smith, we can send him the raw data, and he can run the analysis. He’s been taking his own scans of the area, as well, so we’ll have a global comparison.”

Jack nodded. “All right. You two run the data, and see if you can narrow down what might have triggered all this. Once you’ve fed all the information into the computers, I want you to get some rest.” He pointed meaningfully at Toshiko. “Don’t sit up to watch the progress bar advance. Gwen—” He moved the pointing finger over one seat. “—go home and get some sleep. Take care of your head. Martha, the same goes for you. You’re going to have to take over Owen’s duties for the time being, and if tomorrow is anything like today, we’ll need our medic in top condition. Owen,” he turned to the comm unit, “if you think of anything useful, or if you have any more blackouts, write down all the details. I left you a notebook. You need anything before we break?”

“ _A pizza or something might be nice. Maybe a beer? Some DVDs?_ ”

Jack rolled his eyes, but Toshiko leaned forward. “I’ll bring you some food before I leave, Owen.”

Jack pushed back from the table. “You all have your orders. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The others stood and prepared to leave, but Gwen hung back. “What about you, Jack?”

A shadow crossed Jack’s face. “I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

She knew that meant sitting vigil over Ianto, and she waited for the others to leave before moving around the table to stand beside him. “Jack, I know how much Ianto means to you…”

“Do you?”

She drew back from the hardness in his voice. “I just… You should get some rest too. For all our sakes,” she added quickly, before he could give the old excuse that he didn’t need it. “This has been harder on you than anyone, but half our team is down, and we need _you_ in top condition even more than Martha. At least try to get some sleep?” She touched his sleeve. “Please?”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “I’ll try.” She raised her eyebrows, and Jack rolled his eyes. “I promise, all right? Go home, Gwen.”

She squeezed his arm. “Good night, Jack.”

* * *

Toshiko bid farewell to Sarah Jane at the cog door and paused to stretch her arms over her head before returning to her workstation. All the data had at last been uploaded to Mr. Smith, Sarah Jane’s pet alien supercomputer, freeing her to rest for a few hours.

She peered over the railing of the medical bay to check in with Jack, and smiled when she saw their fearless leader, head pillowed on his arms on the edge of the autopsy table, with one of Ianto’s hands tucked between his. She could see his shoulders moving in the long, deep breaths of sleep. “Finally,” she murmured. “Sweet dreams, Jack.”

Toshiko reheated a few slices of leftover pizza in the kitchenette, added two beers and a bottle of water to the tray, and made her way down to the vaults. Janet the Weevil grunted at the smell of pepperoni as she passed. Toshiko knocked on the steel door of Owen’s cell and slid the tray in through the feeding slot.

“Bless you, sweet angel of mercy,” came the doctor’s muffled voice from within.

Toshiko tilted her head up toward the ventilation holes. “Hold on, I’ll go around to the window side.”

When she reached the transparent observation panel, she could see Owen seated on the floor of the cell, already halfway through a slice of pizza. “I ‘uz ‘tarfing,” he told her, without pausing to swallow. “Tanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Toshiko drew up a stool and took a bite of her own pizza. It wasn’t exactly the romantic date she’d envisioned, but she’d learned to be grateful for any time spent with Owen, given their hectic lifestyle. “Any change in your condition?”

Owen shook his head. “Nothing since the morgue.”

They chewed for another minute in silence. Toshiko was just beginning to give up hope of having any real conversation when Owen spoke. “Tosh,” he began hesitantly. After a moment’s hesitation he plunged on. “Do you remember what I told you, about Ianto getting shot?”

Toshiko picked at a string of cheese. The morbid topic still made her a bit uncomfortable. “You said you thought it should have been you.”

Owen nodded and took a pull from his bottle before continuing. “When I was out, I… I saw something.”

She glanced at the notebook Jack had left in Owen’s cell and noted that it hadn’t moved. Owen hadn’t been recording his experiences, then. “What did you see?”

He set down his plate and bottle and stared hard at the wall as he spoke. “It’s hard to remember clearly. It’s like trying to remember a dream, but… I think it was another world. Like ours, just like ours—the Hub, Cardiff, everything. Only one thing wasn’t the same.” He swallowed and laced his fingers together. “I think I was dead.”

Toshiko held her breath until her heart stopped pounding in her ears, and bent all her efforts on keeping her voice level. “How do you know you were dead?”

“I just… _knew_. Somehow I knew I wasn’t properly in that world any more.”

“Maybe that’s because you _weren’t_ properly in it. You were seeing it, like a dream.”

Owen shook his head. “No, not like that. Everyone else was there. You, and Jack, and Gwen, and Ianto—he was alive, by the way—but I was dead.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “It was like what would have happened if Copley had shot me that night, instead of Ianto. Like what I thought I saw when it happened.”

“Don’t you think this could just be an extension of that? You imagined you saw yourself get shot, so when you blacked out, you envisioned a world where that’s what happened?”

Owen pushed himself to his feet and paced angrily across the cell. “No, no, it’s not like that. It’s… I can’t explain it, I just _know_. I don’t know how I know, but I know.”

Toshiko hated hearing Owen talk about his death in so cavalier a manner. “Well, if what Sarah Jane said about all the alternate timelines is true, perhaps you’re just seeing another potential reality. A world that might have been, had things gone differently. But just because it _might_ have happened doesn’t mean it _should_ have happened.”

Owen blew out a breath. “Yeah, maybe,” he growled, slumping down on the narrow platform bed. “I guess we won’t know until…”

Toshiko stared down at the remains of her pizza as she waited for him to finish the sentence. When some time had passed and he hadn’t spoken again, she glanced up. He was standing, arms rigid, facing away from her. “Owen?” she called warily. “Are you all right?”

The answer was a garbled hiss.

* * *

Jack awoke from a fearful dream in which a shadowy figure was siphoning all the color and light from his world while he railed helplessly in the dark. He rose slowly to consciousness, lulled from foggy panic to warm security by a comforting touch. Gradually the gentle contact solidified into the feeling of a hand stroking his hair, and he sighed and nestled into the sensation.

“Jack,” murmured a voice, “it’s okay. You’re safe. Wake up.”

Jack loved that voice, loved the complex vowels and the soft roll of the consonants, loved the tenderness imbuing every word. That voice had been stolen from him in his dream. Somehow he knew the voice would still be gone if he opened his eyes, so he lay in the pleasant unreality of half-sleep and bathed in its sound. “Ianto,” he whispered.

“I’m right here. Wake up, Jack. You were having a nightmare.”

There came a realization Jack knew was the truth, and it hurt. “I lost you,” he moaned.

“No, you haven’t. I’m here. Just open your eyes.”

Jack ignored the voice’s suggestion until the gentle touch abandoned his hair and became a light smack on his cheek, which jolted him completely awake. He found himself bent uncomfortably over a metal table, his folded arms numb where his head had rested on them. He groaned and tried to rub grit from his eyes with tingling fingers.

“Sorry for the slap,” the voice continued. “Normally I would have wakened you with a pleasant snog or something, but I seem to be strapped down.”

Jack froze and let his gaze slide up the table to Ianto’s face. Blue eyes stared back at him. “Ianto?”

“Yup. Are you going to explain the straps? I mean, I usually don’t mind when you tie me up, but the hospital gown is not really my style.” Ianto’s head dropped back against the table. “Would you mind sitting up a bit more? It’s hard to see you from this angle, and something feels wrong in my chest—”

Jack surged forward and kissed him until Ianto squeaked in a plea for freedom.

Ianto’s eyebrows arched as Jack pulled away. “This keeps getting more interesting,” he panted.

“You’re back,” Jack breathed, cradling Ianto’s face between his hands.

“Was I gone?”

Jack frowned. “You were dead. Don’t you remember?”

Ianto’s eyes widened. “Dead? As in… dead?” He looked down at his body, strapped to the table.

“Yes, dead. You were shot, and then…”

Ianto was still staring at the straps. “If I was dead, why did you tie me up?” He looked so adorably perplexed that Jack couldn’t resist kissing him again. Ianto let out a grunt of protest, and Jack reluctantly pulled away. “Not that I mind the kissing,” Ianto added, “but could we please clarify the situation first?”

“Jack!” Toshiko’s voice echoed through the Hub, and a moment later she fell panting against the rail surrounding the medical bay. “Jack, it’s Owen, he’s…” She blinked as she took in the scene below. “Ianto?”

“Tosh,” Ianto nodded in greeting. “I don’t suppose _you’ll_ tell me what’s going on?”

Toshiko stared at him for a moment, mouth working soundlessly, until she recovered enough to point back toward the vaults. “Jack, Owen’s turned again. I… I suppose this confirms our correlation theory.”

It was a harsh reminder that Ianto’s time was limited. Jack caught his hand and laced their fingers together. “Check the rift monitor, just to be certain,” he told Toshiko. “We’ll need to analyze all the data from this event period to find out what’s triggering it.”

Toshiko nodded and pushed away from the rail. “On it,” she called. “I’ll add it to the analysis already in progress.”

Jack felt Ianto’s fingers go limp in his grasp, and knew he was gone even before he turned back around. _But not permanently_ , he told himself. He bent over Ianto to bestow another kiss. “I’ll bring you back,” he promised. “I’m not going to lose you. Not again.”


	16. Thursday I.

_“Who are you?” he demanded._

_“Just a friend.” The figure drifted nearer. “You blame yourself. You bear the guilt.”_

_Mist swirled between them. “Why are you here?”_

_“I am here to help you. I can spare you a great deal of pain.” The voice echoed unnaturally in the open space. “I can change the past. Rewrite everything that happened.”_

_He plunged his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling. “Nothing can change the past. Those events are fixed.”_

_“Not for me. I can reshape the fabric of time without tearing it. You need only say the word, and I will stop the bullet.” The hooded figure drifted back into view, somewhere off to his left. The fog was making it difficult to gauge distances._

_“It sounds too good to be true.”_

_“You have nothing to lose. But if you refuse, you are condemning them to their fate by your own will.”_

_The mist roiled thick about them, obscuring the carving, until the stone faded to a shadow in the fog. He closed his eyes._

_“You must choose to accept my offer. Do I have your agreement?”_

_His voice cracked as the single word was drawn almost unwillingly from his throat._

_“Yes.”_

* * *

Gwen disconnected the call and looked over the desk at Jack. “We’ve got to do something about this, Jack. The city is in a state of chaos, and the police are out of their depth. There are reports coming in from all over Cardiff of ghosts, monsters, even entire buses appearing and vanishing at random. Andy just told me they’ve had to put down a riot on Westgate Street. Looters and everything. People are getting hurt.”

Jack closed his eyes, and Gwen wondered if he’d actually kept his promise to rest overnight. “I know, Gwen. But you’re injured, and Toshiko and I can’t crisis-manage the entire city on our own. The best thing we can do for Cardiff is get to the bottom of what’s going on with Ianto and Owen, so we have a full team again.” He picked up a battered metal case that looked as though it had spent half a lifetime locked away in the archives. “Anyway, Toshiko says she’s made a breakthrough. Gather everyone in the briefing room. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

“Where are you going?”

Jack hefted the case. “I’m going to get Owen.”

* * *

The briefing room was made more welcoming by a tray of paper-cup coffees and biscuits in the middle of the conference table. Gwen descended on them like a woman starved, in spite of the lovely breakfast Rhys had cooked her that morning. He’d tutted over her and insisted she have a lie-in and rest her bruised head, leading Gwen to wonder how often she could contrive to bump her head in the line of duty.

Jack appeared a few minutes later. Owen trailed just behind him, fidgeting with some kind of bracelet on his arm. Toshiko glanced up from her laptop and turned a worried look on Jack. “Is it safe to have Owen here?”

“Good morning to you, too, Tosh,” Owen growled. He brightened as his eyes fell on the coffee tray. “Please tell me one of those is for me.”

Martha nodded. “Sarah Jane brought coffee for everyone.”

“Sarah Jane, you have my undying gratitude. Please accept my invitation to join Torchwood on a permanent basis.” Owen circled the table, intent on snagging a cup.

“Jack?” Toshiko prompted. “Safety protocols?”

Jack held up a small metallic box. “Magpulse containment cuffs,” he explained, and pointed to the thin metal bands encircling Owen’s wrists and ankles. “If he goes all creepy-eyes on us, all I have to do is press this button, and…” He demonstrated, and Owen’s hands, which had been halfway to a cup of coffee, instantly snapped together, then folded him double to clap his wrists to his ankles. Owen swore profusely. Jack pushed another button, and the cuffs released. “Instant containment. This way, he can be on hand to help us solve our problems without posing a threat to our safety.”

“Get between me and my morning coffee again, and I’ll show you just how much of a threat I can be,” Owen groused. He retrieved a cup and a handful of biscuits and took a seat at the table.

Jack took a coffee for himself and turned to Toshiko. “Tell us what you’ve got, Tosh.”

Toshiko tapped a button to connect her laptop to a large screen at the end of the room. “We made a lot of progress overnight, thanks to Sarah Jane’s Mr. Smith. First, let’s start with what happened to Gwen. The Reaper who attacked her vanished when it touched this.” She held up the key Jack had given her. “I ran some simulations and tests, including exposing the key to various types of energy and radiation. It responded just the way Gwen described when it was bombarded with high levels of tachyon radiation.”

Owen glanced up from his biscuits. “That’s the kind that Michael Bellini was dosed with, right?”

Toshiko nodded. “My theory is that these Reaper creatures use tachyon energy somehow. Maybe for navigation, maybe for survival, but whatever the purpose, they’re loaded with it. That’s why we haven’t seen them here before, in spite of all the flaws in the time stream around Cardiff.”

“Because tachyon and rift energy repel each other,” Gwen finished. “Makes sense.”

Toshiko nodded. “That led me to wonder why they were able to appear here and now, even though the rift is still quite active. So I started looking into the rift activity for the past week, and I found something interesting.” She touched her keyboard, and a series of graphs appeared on screen. “We first noticed these stutters in the readings several days ago—almost like an echo, where everything is doubled. Jack observed overlapping moments in time, which corresponds to Sarah Jane’s theory that reality has splintered into multiple potential timelines, and we’re seeing them all blended together.”

Gwen stared at the graph. “So that first day, at the park, I simultaneously saw a ball bounce off the side of the SUV _and_ the same ball rolling into the street. That’s because there were actually two realities—one where we’d parked the SUV there, and one where we hadn’t?”

“Exactly,” Sarah Jane said. “Most likely, there was a small change somewhere in the timeline that split reality in two: The original timeline, and a dual timeline with slightly different actions and outcomes. That change somehow caused you to go to that place at that time, even though you wouldn’t have been there originally, and you witnessed both possible outcomes.”

“And the way the anomaly rippled out unevenly from each epicenter was due to that same domino effect,” Toshiko continued. “As more people interacted with whatever had changed, they adjusted their actions, and they carried that change into different parts of the city, which caused more changes, which caused a bigger schism between one reality and another. The differences became more dramatic and more noticeable the longer it went on.”

“So all those ‘ghosts’ are just bits of the original timeline bleeding through to the alternate timeline. Or is it the other way around?” Gwen looked over at Jack. “Are we in the original reality, or the altered one?”

“If what Miss Smith claims is correct, we’re in the second one,” Jack said. “We need to find out what changed and set it right, so reality doesn’t split in the first place. Isn’t that right?”

Sarah Jane nodded. “All of this likely can be traced back to one single event.”

“But then why did anomalies pop up all over the city?” asked Martha. “If there was just one event, wouldn’t it start in only one place?”

“I think it did start in one place.” Toshiko displayed a map with areas of color marked over the city. “The first anomaly was here, in Llanedeyrn. Something to do with the Pharm, most likely, since we were all there at that time. Then the next two popped up in Radyr and Saint Mellons. Any guesses why those locations are special?”

Owen shrugged. “I live near Saint Mellons, but there’s nothing particularly special about it.”

“Ianto lives in Radyr,” Jack added.

Toshiko nodded and advanced the map to show more colored zones. “And another anomaly appeared a day later near my flat, and one near Gwen’s not long after that.”

“So whatever happened at the Pharm must have affected all of us, and we each carried that change back to our own homes.” Gwen frowned. “But everything seemed normal for me.”

“Small changes have great exponential power,” said Sarah Jane. “Even little changes in routine—what time you return home, where you park your car, whether you sit or stand on the bus—all of that might affect other people and drive the realities further apart.”

“You said we needed to set things right,” Owen cut in, “but wouldn’t that involve time travel? Going back and fixing something?”

“Not necessarily,” Sarah Jane answered. “It’s complicated. We’ll get to that in a bit.” She nodded to Toshiko. “But there’s more. Listen to what else Miss Sato has found.”

Toshiko highlighted one of the graphs. “On Saturday, the rift echoes looked like this. But after a couple of days of continuing to split, they began looking like this.” She shifted to a different graph. “Notice anything?”

Martha squinted at the screen. “The echoes are almost immediate in the first one. In the second, it looks as though there’s a longer delay. The repeats are evenly spaced between the peaks of the first.”

“Exactly. And if I graph the energy as waveforms…” Toshiko switched the line graph to one that looked like a pair of sine waves. “Now we know how the Reapers are getting in.”

Owen shook his head. “I don’t get it. How are they getting in if there’s twice as much rift energy?”

Martha stared hard at the graph for a moment, and her eyes widened. “Wait, it’s like noise canceling, isn’t it?”

“Give the lady a prize,” Toshiko said with a smile. “Because of the timing of the echo, the waveforms are almost exactly inverted. The rift energy pulses from each reality are literally canceling each other out.”

“So as long as there are two timelines, there’s nothing to repel the Reapers’ tachyon energy.” Jack gave a low whistle. “Good work, you two. Now we just have to figure out how to stop them.”

Toshiko beamed at the praise. “I have a theory about that, too, actually.”

“Please, share with the class.”

“It’s risky. In order to keep any more Reapers from coming through, we need to unbalance the two realities.”

“Like a defibrillator?” Owen put in. “Knock the waves into a different sequence, so they stop canceling each other out. Is that it?”

“That’s exactly it. Good analogy, Owen.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “And I assume you have an idea how to do this?”

“That’s the risky part.” Toshiko switched back to the line graph and overlaid a projected pattern with a large energy surge at the beginning. “We’d need to unleash a massive amount of rift energy into one of the realities to change the waveform. That means using the rift manipulator.”

The members of the Torchwood team shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and Martha looked around the table curiously. “I’m going to assume from your reactions that this isn’t easy to do?”

“Oh, it’s easy enough,” Owen said. “It’s just that last time we opened the rift with the manipulator, we nearly destroyed the world.”

“Ah.” Martha said. “In that case, is there a plan B?”

There was silence as everyone looked around the table.

“We wouldn’t have to open it all the way,” Toshiko added after a moment. “It’s a defibrillator shock, not full-scale electrocution. We just need enough to give one reality a boost and change the wave pattern.”

“Assuming we did boost one of the realities—which I’m not ready to agree to yet—what would be the outcome?” Jack turned to Sarah Jane. “Which reality would we be strengthening?”

Sarah Jane shrugged. “I would assume that depends on when you trigger the rift manipulator. If one timeline is bleeding through another, you’d have to precisely time the energy release to correspond to the reality you want to bolster. But I’m no expert, and I don’t know how long the rift would need to stay open to do the trick.”

Jack frowned at the graph on the display. “We need more information before we take action. Time and energy estimates, and potential fallout.  It’s impossible to know the consequences, and I don’t want to trigger a faster breakdown of the timeline by mistake.”

An alarm trill sounded from Toshiko’s laptop, and she flipped through several screens until she reached the readout for the rift monitor. “Jack, it looks like there’s another rift energy spike incoming.”

“Shouldn’t those be canceled out now?” asked Gwen.

Toshiko shook her head. “The repeat is still an echo. Each initial energy surge leads the echo by a very short margin. It’s not enough to—”

She was cut off by a string of unintelligible syllables from across the table, and Owen rose to his feet, eyes black and enlarged. He reached toward Martha, but before he could do any harm, Jack triggered the cuffs. Owen’s body was folded double as the metal rings snapped together, and he tumbled to the floor. The alien tongue hissed and spat as Owen struggled to free himself.

“Ianto,” Jack breathed. He pushed the control box for Owen’s cuffs across the table to Gwen and took off through the door at a run. His fading footsteps echoed through the room.

Half a minute passed before Owen’s eyes returned to brown, and it was that long again before Gwen figured out how to release him from his charged bonds. Owen regained his seat, muttering imprecations under his breath. After a moment he glanced around. “Where’d Jack get to?”

“He went to check on Ianto,” Martha explained. “Every time you go alien on us, Ianto wakes up.”

Toshiko frowned. “There’s something strange about that, don’t you think?”

“There’s something strange about all of it,” Gwen said. “Ianto being dead or not, Owen being human or not?”

Toshiko glanced up with a sudden look of realization. “Owen, do you remember what you told me last night? When you were in your cell?”

Owen looked distinctly uncomfortable. He glanced around at his teammates before nodding. “Yeah, I remember.”

She chose her words carefully. “If Ianto is dead in this reality, but comes back to life when the rift unbalances…”

“Then he could be alive in another reality,” finished Jack from the doorway.

“Jack!” Gwen turned. “Is Ianto…?”

Jack shook his head and returned to his seat. “Didn’t get there in time. But I think you may be on to something, Tosh. If we assume that Ianto’s state of existence is shifting depending on the dominant reality, I think we can assume Owen’s condition may be bleeding through from another timeline, as well.”

“But they seem to be alternating states,” Sarah Jane observed. “In one reality, Mr. Jones has died, and Dr. Harper is functioning as normal. And in the other, Mr. Jones is still alive, but Dr. Harper is… something else.”

The significance of this dawned on Jack. “But we can only reinforce one of those timelines with rift energy.”

Toshiko looked horrified. “So we have to choose between Owen and Ianto?”

Jack shook his head. “We’ll find some other way. I’m not sacrificing one member of my team to save another.”

“Then how—”

“There could be an infinite number of timelines,” Jack said. “In one of them, both Ianto and Owen are fine. We’ll find a way.”

Sarah Jane frowned. “Captain, this isn’t about finding a reality you like; it’s about finding the _correct_ reality. Whatever the Trickster changed needs to be restored, regardless of the consequences.”

The hard line of Jack’s jaw showed that the discussion was closed. “We’ll find a way.”


	17. Thursday II.

Sarah Jane tapped perfunctorily at the glass as she entered Jack’s office. “Do you have a moment, captain?”

Jack looked up from the calculations he was working on and nodded. “I can spare one. What’s on your mind?”

Sarah Jane stepped further into the office, glancing around at the equipment banks and artifacts crammed into every available space. “This is quite the collection you have here.”

“I’ve spent the better part of a century working on it.” Jack wondered if she recognized any of the objects from her time with the Doctor. During the decades he’d been waiting to meet the Doctor again, he’d acquired dozens of mementos of the Time Lord’s interference in Earth history. “But that’s not what you came to talk about.”

Sarah Jane shook her head. “Captain, I know the members of your team mean a lot to you. It’s obvious that you care a great deal, and would do anything in your power to save them. I understand why you hesitate to reset the timeline in a way that would leave one of them injured, or worse. But I fear that may be exactly what the Trickster is using to manipulate you.”

Jack’s teeth began to ache, and he realized he was clenching his jaw. “I’ve already said I won’t sacrifice one member of my team to save another. And frankly, Miss Smith, I have only your word for it that this Trickster is even behind what’s happening to Cardiff. That makes me even less inclined to put any of my team at risk.”

Sarah Jane fished in her pocket and produced a memory stick, which she placed on Jack’s cluttered desk. “If it will help convince you, here are the readings Mr. Smith detected and matched to the Trickster’s previous appearances, along with evidence of his meddling in the time stream. I’ve already shared them with Miss Sato, but you may wish to look at them for yourself. As for the rest…” She sighed. “If you won’t reset the timeline yourself, you’ll have to face the Trickster directly to put things to rights.”

Jack frowned. “But I’ve never even seen the Trickster. Not really. Occasionally I just sense someone there, or sometimes I can see a vague shadow. But nothing so clear as you’ve described.”

“I admit that this isn’t his usual _modus operandi_ ,” she said. “Usually he appears to his victims directly, rather than lurking at a distance. But I’ve been talking with Miss Sato, and I think I’ve figured out why. It may be the Trickster’s weakness. Perhaps you can use it to your advantage somehow.”

“I’m listening.”

Sarah Jane dragged a chair from the corner and took a seat opposite Jack’s desk. “It must be the saturation of artron energy. Whatever the Trickster is, whatever methods he uses to manipulate events, he only ever works from _outside_ the time stream. I think he can’t come into direct contact with the time vortex. That’s why he hasn’t appeared here.”

“But the rift isn’t a direct line to the time vortex,” Jack said. “It’s a completely different kind of energy.”

“I’m not talking about the rift, captain.” She pointed to Jack’s wrist strap. “You’ve traveled in time a great deal, haven’t you? You’ve spent time with the Doctor. You possess a key to the TARDIS, which radiates artron energy. And—I hope you’ll forgive Miss Sato for filling me in on your situation—you’re absorbing more energy from the vortex every time your body repairs itself.”

“That’s just a theory.”

“A sound one, I’d say. I believe all that energy from the vortex is preventing the Trickster from fully manifesting near you. Perhaps the reason the timeline has splintered the way it has, instead of changing outright, is because the artron energy is interfering with the Trickster’s powers. In a way, your presence is inoculating this reality against the Trickster’s meddling.”

Jack considered this. “But if that’s the case, why target me in the first place? The Trickster would know I was a time traveler. If I’m immune to his powers, why would he even attempt it?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too.” Sarah Jane’s eyes moved to the coral-like object on the corner of Jack’s desk, and he wondered if she recognized it for what it really was. “The Trickster has targeted me repeatedly. At first I thought it was because I was defending my small part of England from alien attack, but then I wondered why he didn’t go after UNIT or any of the other major powers that defend the Earth. The fact that he’s now targeting you makes me think there’s more to his plan.” She returned her gaze to Jack. “What do we have in common, captain?”

“I’m guessing the answer has less to do with our U.K.-issued passports, and more to do with a certain blue police box.”

Sarah Jane nodded. “Exactly. We’re both experienced time travelers. Granted, it’s been decades since the Doctor left me behind—”

“You, too?” Jack put in wryly. “That seems to be a habit with him.”

Sarah Jane shot him a sympathetic smile. “We’ll have to swap stories sometime. But my theory is that we were targeted because we’re a direct threat to the Trickster. He needs us out of the way, because the presence of artron energy might interfere with his plans for the Earth, whatever those might be.”

“But he was able to appear directly to you, in spite of the artron energy.”

She shrugged. “As I said, it’s been decades since I traveled through the vortex. I don’t know what the half-life of artron radiation is, but I suspect I have only trace levels remaining, compared to someone who has come through the vortex recently. Enough to make me an annoyance, perhaps, but not enough to prevent the Trickster from approaching me.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “If that’s true, Martha is also at risk. She traveled with the Doctor even longer than I did.”

“At least she’ll be forewarned after all this.”

“Assuming we preserve this timeline.” Jack shook his head. “But I don’t see what the Trickster is getting out of all this. Even if he succeeds in changing history, he must know he can’t kill me. I’ll still be a threat to him, in any timeline.”

“Unless he can make you leave,” Sarah Jane said quietly. “And you may not be the only target.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “According to Miss Sato, Mr. Jones also scanned positive for artron energy. From the way the rift energy affects him, we suspect that Mr. Jones is still alive in the other—original— timeline. It may have been the Trickster’s plan to eliminate him all along, since he poses the same threat you and I do. And knowing how you care for him…” She fixed Jack with a meaningful look. “If I wanted to take away your motivation to defend the Earth, captain, I wouldn’t target you directly.”

Jack’s stomach coiled into knots until he felt he might be sick. Had Ianto died because of him? Because he’d chosen to step through a portal to save Jack? Because he’d accepted Jack as he was, and offered him forgiveness and friendship and love? Because Jack had loved him in return?

And would Jack’s other loved ones suffer the same fate? Suddenly Jack realized exactly how much he stood to lose: Not only his lover, but his team, his friends, his daughter, his little grandson…

“How do I kill him?” Jack asked suddenly.

Sarah Jane’s eyebrows rose. “Kill him? The Trickster?”

Jack frowned. “You think he deserves mercy, after all he’s done? After everything he might do?”

She shook her head. “No; I just don’t feel it’s my place to take a life. But even if I did, I have no idea if the Trickster even _can_ be killed. He’s not from this universe. He may be entirely beyond our laws of nature.”

Jack stood and began to pace. “We need to defeat him, then. Find a way to keep him from coming back. Ever.” He reached the end of the office and turned. “What are his other weaknesses, his limitations?”

Sarah Jane thought for a moment. “He’s governed by rules. He needs someone’s consent to change events. A bargain.” She shrugged. “That, and the artron energy. Those are the only limitations I know.”

“But even if your theory about the artron energy is true, it doesn’t stop the Trickster from interfering with time travelers,” Jack mused, returning to his desk. “Otherwise, Ianto would still be alive. He should have been immune to the changes.”

“Wasn’t he? From what Miss Sato told me, Mr. Jones was still walking around nearly a week after he’d been shot dead. Perhaps the artron energy he’d absorbed prevented the Trickster’s altered timeline from fully manifesting, so Mr. Jones was suspended between timelines, both alive and dead at the same time.”

Jack stared at her for a moment, then slowly sank into his chair. “So it wasn’t the glove at all,” he breathed. “No wonder none of the tests showed any connection. In this timeline, he really was dead.” He shivered. “He must have realized that, somehow. That’s why he was so sure that….” Jack broke off abruptly. “Never mind. The important question is what to do next.”

Sarah Jane spread her hands. “There is always Miss Sato’s suggestion. Use the rift manipulator to stabilize one of the timelines. Then you’ll need to figure out exactly what the Trickster changed, and undo it.”

Jack shook his head. “If I choose one timeline, Ianto dies. If I choose the other, Owen is taken over by something we can’t identify. Either way, I’ll lose one of my team.”

“And we’re back to the beginning of this conversation,” Sarah Jane sighed. “I told you this wouldn’t be easy, captain. It costs lives to defeat the Trickster. Good people’s lives. Precious lives. That’s what he depends on—our inability to sacrifice our loved ones for the greater good.”

“But how can I make that decision? Either I watch the man I love die, or I destroy a friend and put the rest of my team at risk from a hostile entity. I’m damned either way.”

“I wish I could offer you another solution, but there isn’t one. That’s how the Trickster makes his bargains: Something bad happens, and he appears and convinces you he can change it. And the world he creates is even worse.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, captain. I truly am.”

Jack balled his fists together and leaned his head against them. “The day I first met the Doctor,” he said quietly, “he taught me that there were days when everybody lives. That sometimes, there’s a happy ending for everyone. That it isn’t about who comes out on top, but about everyone coming out alive.”

Sarah Jane nodded. “That sounds like him.”

“It changed my life. I’d never heard anyone talk like that before, and it sounded so much better than the way I was living. I wanted to believe him so badly.” Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “But that was before Torchwood. Now I wish to hell he’d just told me the truth from the beginning.”

“What truth?”

“That there is no such thing as a happy ending.” Jack’s voice was raw and bleeding. “Not for anyone. Not for me. Not ever.”

* * *

Toshiko tightened her fingers on the containment control box as she descended the steps to the medical bay. She hated that she had to carry it, and she hoped she would not have occasion to use it, but Jack had insisted. “Owen?”

Owen was standing beside the autopsy table, gazing down at Ianto’s body. “Here, Tosh.”

She joined him at the table. The sight of their fallen comrade’s pale, shrinking corpse was still disturbing, but she was beginning to grow accustomed to it. Which, she acknowledged, was disturbing in its own right. “There’s another rift surge incoming. We’d better get you down to the vaults.”

Owen groaned, but dutifully followed her up the stairs. “Do I have to be locked up every time?”

“It’s safer than having you struggle against those cuffs repeatedly. You could do permanent damage if you keep fighting those the way you did earlier.”

Jack met them at the top of the stairs. “I heard the alarm. Rift alert?”

Toshiko nodded. “Any minute. I’m taking Owen down to the vaults until it’s over.”

Jack nodded and disappeared into the medical bay. Owen frowned after him. “He seems awfully cheerful about the rift acting up. Where’s he off to?”

“He’s going to see Ianto when he wakes up.” Toshiko glanced at her watch and beckoned Owen to follow along. “We’d better hurry. The rift predictor projected some time in the next ten minutes, but it isn’t an exact science.”

They wove through the Hub’s tunnels in silence. As they entered the first vault level, Owen rubbed absently at a patch on his wrist where the skin had been scraped raw during his possessor’s most recent efforts to escape the cuffs.

“How are you feeling?” Toshiko asked.

Owen gave a humorless snort. “I’m not sure there are words for it. And if there were, they’d be the type that are only broadcast post-watershed.”

Toshiko shot him a sympathetic smile. “I was meaning your injuries, but if there’s more to talk about, I’m here.”

“Oh.” Owen glanced down at his arms. “Some minor bruising. I’ll live. Or not,” he added sourly.

“Owen, don’t talk like that. You’ll get through this.” She stopped by one of the cell doors. “Is this one okay?”

“As long as it’s not in Weevil Row,” Owen muttered. “I don’t fancy my clothes smelling of eau de Janet.” He stepped inside and waited while Toshiko locked the door behind him. “You going to stick around and see my party trick?”

Toshiko saw through the sarcasm to the very real request, and stretched up to speak through the grate. “I’ll come around to the window side. Just a moment.”

She hurried around to the observation hallway and found Owen already pacing the width of the cell. “If I’m going to spend a lot of time in here, we should redecorate,” Owen said. “It’s a little too sewer chic for me.”

“You’re slipping,” Toshiko teased. “John Hart already used that line.” She pulled a stool over to the window and sat. “Besides, we’ll sort this out. You’ll be back on duty in no time.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “No time. Perfect choice of words.”

Toshiko frowned. “You don’t think we can beat this?”

Owen ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to think any more. When Ianto died, I felt like it should have been me—like it was wrong that I survived, somehow. And then I started having these blackouts, and the longer they last, the more I see of this other world that I’m not part of. It’s like the universe is trying to erase me.”

“That won’t happen,” Toshiko assured him with a confidence she didn’t feel. “For one thing, you’re far too stubborn to rub out.”

“I’m serious, Tosh.” Owen met her eyes, and for once he wasn’t projecting a facade of arrogance or false bravado. He looked scared and wounded, and Toshiko wished she could throw her arms around him and shield him from reality. “There’s more I haven’t told you,” he said quietly.

Her heart pounded. “I’m listening.”

“Since this started, I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

“That’s understandable, given the stress…”

“No,” he cut her off, “not falling asleep. I’ve been having trouble waking up. It’s almost like dreaming, but I can’t break out of it. Like I’m underwater, and I can see the light above the surface, but I can’t breathe and I can’t swim up to it.” He shook his head. “At first I thought it was sleep paralysis, but the symptoms weren’t right. I’ve tried to find a medical cause, but it doesn’t match anything in the literature. So it must be related to the blackouts.” He drew a long breath. “And what scares me most is that when I’m in that state, I don’t _want_ to wake up. Like I know I’m not supposed to be in the light any more. Like I’m just supposed to stay down.”

Toshiko placed her palm against the transparent partition, wishing she could touch him. “Owen, you’re not dead. We’ll figure this thing out. You heard Jack; he’s not going to choose a timeline that you’re not a part of.”

“But what if that’s the right one?” Owen whirled to pace the floor again. “I don’t want to die, but it _feels_ like I should be dead.”

“Owen,” she said firmly, “I am not going to let you die, and that’s final.”

“But…”

“I am not going to let you die,” she repeated. “Whatever it takes to keep you here, I’m willing to do it. If that means taking on the whole of time and space, I will. So let’s have no more talk of you disappearing from the timeline. Understood?”

Owen didn’t answer, and Toshiko stepped warily back from the window. “Owen? Are you still with me?”

With a savage noise, he turned and rushed at the partition. Toshiko turned away from the nightmare black of his eyes.

“I’ll save you, Owen,” she whispered. “I’ll save you from this. I promise.”

* * *

“So what _do_ you remember?” Jack helped Ianto into a more upright position before hitching a hip onto the metal table beside him.

Ianto shifted his legs over to make space for Jack to sit. “It’s all a jumble. I remember the Pharm, and Copley pulling a gun, but I don’t remember… _dying_ , exactly. Just a lot of confusion. And… something happened to Owen, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. He’s been taken over by something alien. We don’t know what.”

“Was that what happened? For some reason I thought he…” Ianto shook his head. “Well, apparently not, if he’s still alive.”

“Anything else?”

“There are some other things… sort of hazy images…” He frowned and looked up at Jack. “Did we have a row?”

Jack nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, we did. A big one.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “You’re apologizing even though you can’t remember it? What if it was all my fault?”

“It’s probably both our faults. And I don’t have to remember the details to be sorry that it happened.” He looked down at his hands, which were still spotted with bruises from the injections. “I hate it when we fight.”

“Me, too.”

Ianto flashed a cheeky smile. “Mind you, the part where we make up isn’t too bad.”

Jack chuckled and leaned in for a brief kiss, but when he pulled away his smile had vanished. “Ianto, we don’t have much time, and there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“All right.”

Ianto looked up at him with such openness that it was all Jack could do not to cling to him and beg the universe to spare him. Instead, he took one of Ianto’s cold hands in his, stroking a thumb tenderly over the marred flesh. “Toshiko has a theory that she can repel the Reapers by opening the rift.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“It is. But the Reapers have been taking people all over Cardiff, and as things stand, we don’t have any good way to stop them.”

Ianto considered this. “Then I’d say it’s worth the risk. Tosh knows her business.” He looked up at Jack again. “Is that what you wanted to ask? My opinion?”

Jack shook his head and collected Ianto’s other hand. “The problem is, if we open the rift, we’ll be strengthening one of the timelines over the other. I’ve been doing the calculations, and…” He swallowed and looked into Ianto’s eyes. “Chances are that the timeline we stabilize will be the one in which you died.”

Ianto took a moment to digest this. “So you’d save Cardiff, but lose me?” Jack nodded, and Ianto sighed. “Then there’s really no question, Jack. I don’t want to die, but if it’s between me and the rest of the world, you know which you have to choose.”

Jack stared at him. “You just accept it, without question? You don’t even ask if there’s another way?”

“I know you wouldn’t have brought it up if there were any other way.” Ianto turned their hands over so he was holding Jack’s between his own. “It’s all right, Jack. I understand.”

He was putting up a brave front, but there was a quaver in his voice, and Jack could feel Ianto’s trembling through their linked hands. It wasn’t fair: Ianto was so young, and so bright, and so giving of his affection. He deserved better.

“How can I make that choice?” Jack whispered, blinking back sudden tears. He pulled Ianto close, careful of his broken rib, of the prominent bones jutting from his unnaturally thin body. “I can’t choose for you to die.”

Ianto leaned into his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t choose the circumstances.”

“But I have to choose the outcome.”

“Then I forgive you for doing what you must. Don’t blame yourself.”

Jack buried his face in Ianto’s neck. “I can’t lose you. I need you.”

“No, you don’t. You’ll be fine.”

“I do!” Jack pulled back and tipped his forehead to rest against Ianto’s. “I do. I didn’t know how much until—”

Ianto slumped suddenly, and Jack caught the limp body before it hit the table. “No!” he cried. “No, not yet. Please. There’s so much I need to tell you… Please. Ianto? Ianto, wake up. Come back to me, please.” He gathered Ianto into his arms as his pleas turned wordless. His fingers carded through the short hair, traced the contour of a pale cheek, touched the still lips. “I love you,” he whispered, but he knew it was already too late for Ianto to hear him.

He was still cradling Ianto’s body when Toshiko returned to the medical bay a few minutes later. “Jack?” she called tentatively as she descended the steps. “The rift predictor forecasts a quiet spell, so I’ve released Owen from the vaults. Where do you want the controller for the cuffs?”

Jack knew it was his responsibility, but just then he couldn’t think of anything but the too-light body in his arms. “Keep it,” Jack said. “I’m putting you in charge of Owen. Keep an eye on him, or put him in the vaults when you can’t.”

Toshiko nodded and turned to go, but Gwen appeared on the steps above her. “Jack, the police have just called in another mass disappearance. Fourteen people have gone missing from Cathays. From the report, it sounds like another Reaper.”

Jack’s arms tightened around Ianto.

“We really need to take some kind of action, or we’re going to lose all police cooperation,” she continued. “There are even rumors going around that Torchwood is responsible for what’s happening.” She waited a moment for a response, then prompted, “Do you want one of us to take the key and go out trolling? Maybe we’ll get lucky and vanish another one.”

Toshiko frowned. “That’s awfully risky. I haven’t been able to duplicate the key’s technology, so we only have the one. And since we’re not sure exactly what happened last time, we can’t be sure it will happen again. The Reaper might get you before you get it.” She turned back to Jack. “Have you made a decision about using the rift manipulator, Jack?”

Jack looked down at Ianto’s closed eyes and tried to imagine living in a world where he would never see their gentle blue again. “Yes,” he sighed. “We have to stop the Reapers at any cost. Get it ready.”


	18. Thursday III.

Toshiko snapped the last component into place. “There,” she panted, dusting her hands. Reassembling the machine had been slow and challenging work; after their last misadventure, Jack had made certain the essential components were disassembled and kept behind various locks and keys. In spite of the danger the rift manipulator posed when complete, there was still something rewarding in piecing the complex mechanical puzzle together.

She slid out of the core housing and made her way back to her workstation, where she called up the program she’d hastily modified to control the rift manipulator. She had calculated the minimum quantity of energy necessary to counteract the waveform echoes and determined that the rift would need to be open for just twelve and a half seconds. Jack had checked her math twice. “Not that I don’t trust your work,” he’d told her, “but we can’t risk a repeat of what happened last time.”

She had heartily agreed, and checked her figures over again even after he’d approved them.

Toshiko turned and called over her shoulder. “Jack? The rift manipulator is ready when you are.”

She heard him climbing the stairs of the medical bay, and felt almost guilty for pulling him away from his place at Ianto’s side. After all, by taking this action, they were as good as sealing Ianto’s fate. But, she reminded herself, Ianto had already died—days before—while Owen was still very much at risk. They had a duty to preserve the remaining members of the team, as well as spare Cardiff from the ravages of any more Reapers.

And she had a promise to keep.

Jack joined her at her workstation, and soon Gwen, Martha, Owen and Sarah Jane had formed a loose semicircle behind them. “How’s the rift predictor looking?” Jack asked.

Toshiko checked the display. “We’ll have a brief window coming up shortly. Medium intensity, well within the parameters of our calculations.”

“How long?”

“Starting in approximately two minutes. Duration will likely be somewhere from thirty to fifty seconds. We’ll have to act quickly.”

“That’s the idea of this whole process,” Jack said. “Open and shut.” He took the containment control box from Toshiko’s desk and handed it to Gwen. “Keep an eye on Owen,” he ordered. “Tosh and I will be busy watching the rift. If you see him do anything out of the ordinary, contain him.”

Toshiko glanced back at them. “But opening the rift should eliminate Owen’s episodes.”

“Only in theory,” Jack said. “I don’t want to take any chances with this. The last thing we need is the rift blowing wide open while we have a situation in the Hub.”

“I’ll watch, don’t worry.” Gwen took up a position where she could see the entire group, while Owen shuffled uncomfortably toward the rear.

“Thirty seconds,” Toshiko announced. She put her hands on the keys and looked up at Jack.

“Everyone ready?” Jack called. “Everything tied down that needs to be?”

There were nods all around, except for Owen, who stepped forward. “Jack…”

“Twenty seconds,” Toshiko said. She shot a warning look at Owen. _Not now. Not when we_ _’re about to secure your timeline_.

Jack answered without looking back. “What is it, Owen? Talk fast.”

Owen looked ill. “Jack, these blackouts… they aren’t really blackouts.”

“What?” Jack looked over his shoulder at Owen. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when I’m not here, I’ve been seeing another world,” Owen said. “A world where I…”

“Ten seconds,” Toshiko called. _Don_ _’t say it, Owen. I can stop this from happening. Just a few more seconds._

“…I don’t exist,” Owen finished. “I think I’m supposed to be dead. I think that’s what went wrong in the timeline.”

“Wait—hold on. Hold everything.” Jack turned to face him, eyes wide. “You mean that…”

“Time!” Toshiko shouted. Without waiting for Jack’s order, she activated the rift manipulator. The air crackled with unseen energy, buffeting their bodies and multiplying their vision for what seemed much longer than the mere seconds it lasted. Alarms shrieked about the Hub. Equipment and warning lights lit up the room, while a few bits of alien technology sparked to life, responding to trace energies from their home worlds.

Twelve and a half seconds later it was over, though a tang of ozone remained in the air, and static electricity clung to their clothing and hair. When everything had settled, Jack turned slowly to Toshiko. “Tosh,” he said, “I didn’t give the order to open the rift.”

She heard the disciplinary note in his voice, but she had already made her choice, and she would have to face the consequences. “I’m sorry,” she lied. “I just thought… our window of opportunity was so narrow…”

Jack leaned forward over her shoulder to reach her keyboard, and from that proximity she could see the muscles flex in his clenched jaw. He tapped a few keys to pull up the rift monitors. “It looks like your theory worked,” he said after checking several readouts. “The echoes have shifted so they’re not canceling each other out any more. And after that venting, the rift energy levels should be stabilized for a while. No big energy surges for a few weeks.”

“So that means no more Reapers, yeah?” Gwen asked. “And Owen should be back to normal, too? No more black-eyed monster trying to kill us?”

“Yes.” Jack straightened slowly, but the lines of his face remained hard. “And Ianto will stay dead.”

Toshiko flinched as he brushed past her on the way to the medical bay. “I’m going to take care of Ianto’s body,” he said to the room at large, his voice artificially level. “I want everyone in the briefing room in ten minutes.”

* * *

Jack looked terrible.

Martha watched him with a medic’s analytical eye as he slumped into his seat at the head of the conference table. He had borne the lack of sleep, the infrequent meals, and the general stress of their circumstances tolerably well, all things considered, but this most recent decline was the worst yet. She had never seen someone collapse from pure grief, but today Jack looked as though he might be the first.

But he was Jack, and he was the leader of Torchwood, so he carried on in spite of pressures that would have crushed a mortal man.

She glanced around the table and admitted that the rest of the team didn’t look much better. Gwen was still moving gingerly, recovering from her knock on the head. Owen looked so uneasy it seemed he might be sick at any moment, and Toshiko was unusually pale and withdrawn since the incident with the rift manipulator. Sarah Jane Smith was in fair condition, though the shadows beneath her eyes hinted that she wasn’t used to keeping Torchwood hours.

Martha herself felt as though she could sleep for several days straight, and wondered if UNIT would notice if she stayed out of the office for another week.

“Owen,” Jack opened. His voice was as rough as his appearance. “You said you think you should be dead. Explain.”

Owen looked down at the table. “Ever since the Pharm, I’ve been… Well, I guess I’ve been seeing things. I don’t know what they are, exactly. When Copley shot Ianto, for a second I thought he’d shot me. I _saw_ it happen, but then I snapped out of it and it was Ianto who’d been hit. And there are these little glimpses of the Hub… It’s like I’m seeing another world. It’s just like ours, but everyone is there except for me.” He picked at a spot in the table’s finish with a fingernail. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it just _feels_ like I’m not supposed to be there.”

“But that’s all subjective,” Toshiko cut in. “None of that is conclusive evidence that you—”

“I didn’t ask for your assessment, Toshiko,” Jack snapped. “I think you made your position quite clear when you opened the rift.” He turned back to Owen. “How about now? Do you still feel that way? Like you shouldn’t be here?”

Owen glanced at Toshiko, then back at Jack. “No, I feel more or less normal, now. It mostly happened during the… well, the blackouts, or whatever they were. The rift surges.”

“The moments when the other timeline was bleeding through,” Jack clarified. “You saw yourself get shot, instead of Ianto. You felt you were dead during the moments when Ianto was alive.” Jack narrowed his eyes at Toshiko. “And you knew all this?”

Toshiko nodded, but did not speak.

Jack kept his gaze fixed on her. “You knew we needed to isolate the original event that split the timeline. I know you knew that, because you and Miss Smith spent hours feeding data into the computer trying to find it. And even though you actually had a pretty good idea what that event was, because Owen had told you what he’d been experiencing, you still chose to secure a timeline that you _knew_ wasn’t the one we ultimately needed to preserve. Against my orders.” Jack crossed his arms. “Are you even going to try to give a defense?”

“Personal reasons,” Toshiko said quietly.

Jack’s lips compressed, but before he could speak Gwen cut in. “You know why she did it, Jack. I’m not saying she was right, but is it so hard to see her side?”

He shot Gwen a dark look. “I see her side better than anyone. I know exactly what it feels like, because I landed on the reverse side of the coin toss. I just sealed Ianto in a drawer in the morgue—” His voice wavered on the word, but he pressed on. “—and I know very well it could have been Owen.” He glanced over at Owen, who looked miserable. “I don’t want it to be either of them, but at this point I don’t know how to get back to a timeline where everyone is alive.”

“You may not be able to,” Sarah Jane interjected quietly.

Jack flinched, but Martha jumped in. “Why not? Why can’t we just pop back in time and stop the timeline from separating in the first place? Surely we have _something_ capable of that, with all this technology lying around. We have three of the Doctor’s companions in this room. Can’t we figure this out?”

Sarah Jane answered, despite Jack’s agonized look. “We can’t stop it from happening because someone has already tried, and failed.”

“What?” Gwen glanced around the table. “Who? When?”

“Whoever made a bargain with the Trickster,” Sarah Jane replied. Martha caught the flick of her eyes to Jack, but she did not call him out in front of his team. “That’s what triggered all of this in the first place. Everything stems from one significant event—most likely, Dr. Harper’s death. Someone tried to change that, and that change caused Mr. Jones to die, instead.”

Gwen frowned. “So if we assume that Owen died in one timeline and Ianto died in another, why did they keep trading places? And why did Owen go all horror-film on us?”

“When the timelines first splintered, they still overlapped for the most part. You saw both realities manifesting in the same place at the same time, such as the ball that both hit your car and rolled through it. The timelines were so close that both Dr. Harper and Mr. Jones were, functionally speaking, simultaneously alive and dead. A quantum paradox, if you will.”

“Is that why Ianto remained conscious even after his body had died?”

“It’s one theory, yes. But as the two timelines separated and became more distinct, each reality began repelling the other, and his status became binary—either dead or alive. When the rift surges affected which timeline was dominant, his status would switch to the opposite condition.”

“But Ianto came back to life even before that,” Owen put in. “If he was completely dead in this timeline, how could his heart start beating again after five days?”

“Artron energy,” Jack said quietly. Everyone turned to look at him, and he rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We think artron energy neutralizes the Trickster’s influence. The life energy I gave Ianto came from the time vortex. It interfered with the Trickster’s changes in the timeline, so the version of Ianto from the original, unaltered timeline began to bleed through into this one.” He looked away. “But it couldn’t keep pace with the diverging realities.”

“And what about Owen’s black eyes and killer instinct?” Gwen asked.

Sarah Jane shrugged. “I can only assume it’s something that happened to him in the other timeline. Maybe he didn’t die there, but rather was taken over by something alien. Dr. Harper, any ideas?”

Owen shrugged. “Search me. I only get hazy images, not full-page explanations.”

Toshiko had gathered her courage to speak again. “But how do we know that _that_ timeline is the one we need to restore? Maybe the reason someone made a deal with this Trickster to change what happened is because it was too horrible to allow. Maybe this thing that took over Owen destroyed Cardiff, or the world, and the only way to stop it is to prevent it from possessing him. How can we know for certain?”

“The Trickster’s goal is to sow chaos and destruction. If the world had been destroyed in the original timeline, the Trickster would not have stepped in to change it.” Sarah Jane shrugged. “More likely, the world experienced a near miss, and the Trickster saw an opportunity to _keep_ you from saving it.”

Martha propped her elbows on the table and looked around at the disheartened team. “It seems to me that what we really need to be focusing on is how to stop this Trickster. We can point fingers and theorize about what happened all night long, but it’s not getting us any closer to fixing things.” She turned to Sarah Jane. “What will it take to undo the Trickster’s changes to the timeline?”

Sarah Jane met Jack’s gaze across the table. “The person who made the bargain has to withdraw his consent, and whatever was changed in the timeline must be reverted.”

“Meaning Owen has to die,” Toshiko finished, and pushed to her feet. “You can’t do that. You can’t just kill him!”

“Sit down, Toshiko,” Jack ordered.

She moved between Jack and Owen. “But he’s part of the team! You can’t—”

Owen grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. “He’s not going to whip out his gun and shoot me, Tosh!”

Jack leveled a finger at her. “Calm down and help us figure out a solution, or leave the room.”

Toshiko collected herself and sat back, but Martha noticed that she stayed a bit closer to Owen than before.

“So, first question, and I gather it’s a touchy one.” Martha drew a deep breath. ”Who made the bargain with the Trickster?”

Heads swiveled around the table. Martha kept her eyes on Jack, expecting him to reveal something, but he merely maintained his expression of general discontent while looking back at Sarah Jane.

“Okay, I give,” Owen said at last. “I don’t think any of this lot like me enough to break the whole Earth just to keep me around. Who was it?”

Sarah Jane sighed. “I still think it’s you, Captain Harkness. No one else has witnessed the Trickster.”

“I’m still not entirely convinced that I have,” Jack returned. “Your arguments about the artron energy were convincing, and I believe you when you say I’m the only one who could have done it, but the fact remains that _I don_ _’t remember_ making any such deal.”

“I can’t imagine Jack agreeing to anything that would have put Ianto at risk,” Gwen added.

“That wouldn’t have been part of the bargain,” Sarah Jane corrected. “The Trickster manipulates his victims’ emotions. Probably the reason you can’t remember meeting him is because this version of you exists in an incomplete timeline, where the Trickster’s power is limited.”

“So when did this happen? In the other timeline? In the future?” Jack shook his head. “I’m willing to step up and face this thing, but I can’t take steps to end it until I at least know when and where it started.”

“We know where it started, don’t we?” Gwen turned to Owen. “You said the first of the strange things you saw was at the Pharm, wasn’t it?”

“Right. When I saw myself get shot.” Owen shuddered, then donned his usual scowl. “Naturally, I’m _super_ keen to go back there and see if it happens again.”

“If that’s where he made the change, that is where the Trickster’s power should be strongest,” Sarah Jane said. “That’s where you’ll have the best chance of finding him.”

Jack considered this. “And you say I need to confront him and withdraw my agreement?”

Sarah Jane nodded, then glanced at Owen. “And… you know the rest.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Jack said. He pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s go, kids. Get your kit and take a run through the armory. We’re going hunting.”

Owen groaned. “Now? It’s after eleven.”

“And every hour brings us closer to critical divergence,” Jack snapped.

“We don’t have a vehicle,” Gwen pointed out.

“Then we’ll take your personal cars. Move.”

They moved, though with less enthusiasm than usual. Martha followed the others back to the central atrium of the Hub. She stopped at the armory and accepted a sleek semiautomatic from Gwen.

“You know how to use one of these?” Gwen asked.

“I’m officially certified for anything military-issue, unofficially trained for most of their cousins, and I’ve had hands-on with more alien blasters and ray guns than you’d believe.” Martha ejected the magazine, which was loaded with a dozen rounds. She grabbed a second mag and a box of nine-millimeter hollowpoint from a shelf.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Serious business, then?”

“You can’t fire bullets you aren’t carrying. You have an autoloader, or do we do this the old-fashioned way?”

Gwen gave her a dual thumbs-up sign. “Thumbs of steel.”

Martha groaned and began manually loading rounds, forcing them against the heavy spring of the magazine. “This is hell on manicures. Where’s the holster for this gun?”

“Holster?” Gwen glanced around and shrugged. “There might be one somewhere. We usually just stick them in our pockets or waistbands.”

Martha rolled her eyes. “No, but really.”

Gwen stared back. “Really.”

All of Martha’s UNIT training rushed to the fore. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to carry an unholstered pistol?”

Gwen shrugged and demonstrated her lack of concern by tucking her own sidearm into the back of her denims. “It’s Torchwood, love. We’re a thousand times more likely to die from a Weevil mauling or a cloud of space nettles than by misadventure with a firearm.”

Martha spent an extra few minutes searching until she found a serviceable belt holster in a cabinet. It was an old soft leather model with no trigger guard, but it was better than nothing. She strapped it on with a military-surplus web belt, tucked the spare magazine in her hip pocket, and hurried to the medical bay to pick up her jacket.

As she descended the steps, Owen jerked around in surprise and palmed whatever he’d been holding. “Just grabbing my things,” he said quickly. “How’s it looking up there?”

“Everyone’s armed and dangerous. Emphasis on dangerous,” she added under her breath.

Owen shoved his hands, and whatever he was holding, into the pockets of his coat. “You ready to go?”

Martha shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be, considering I don’t really even know what this thing is that we’re hunting.”

“That’s the Torchwood way,” Owen replied. “Half-blind and guns a-blazing. You’ll get used to it.”

Martha touched the inadequate holster that rested against her hip and sighed. “I sincerely hope not.” She followed Owen up the stairs.

The rest of the team were already assembled by the red fire door that led through to the garage. Jack was just joining the group, greatcoat flaring behind him as he came from his office. “Let’s load up.”

Martha paused by Toshiko’s workstation to pull on her jacket, and a small metallic object caught her eye. She glanced toward the rest of the group, but they were already disappearing into the tunnel. She made a quick decision and scooped up Jack’s TARDIS key. “You two can have a reunion,” she murmured as she looped the chain over her head and slipped the key inside her collar, where it nestled beside its exact copy.

As she followed the team toward the garage, Martha fancied she felt a spark of warmth from the twin keys over her heart.

* * *

It was nearing midnight by the time they arrived at the car park outside the Pharm. A halfhearted drizzle made the pavement shine with the reflected lights of the two vehicles they’d traveled in, but the building beyond lay silent and dark. In the cars’ headlights, a pale mist crept across the landscape and began to surround them.

“Well, that doesn’t look ominous or anything,” muttered Owen as they climbed out of Gwen’s vehicle.

Gwen shivered and zipped her leather jacket up to the neck. “This is a bit much, even for Wales.” She frowned. “Does the air feel… _off_ to anyone else?”

“It feels colder than it should,” Toshiko agreed, walking back from Sarah Jane’s Figaro. “And that mist gives me the creeps.”

“So what’s next? Should we go to where… where it happened?” Gwen glanced back at Owen, then at Jack, who had remained uncharacteristically silent for most of the drive.

“Might as well get it over with.” Owen squared his shoulders and strode off toward the end of the car park where, a few days before, they’d surrounded Ianto’s lifeless body on the pavement.

The rest of the group followed closely. Toshiko held a scanner to check for signs of further alien activity, but after a few paces she frowned and shook her head. “Something’s interfering with the equipment,” she called. “I keep getting conflicting readings.”

“Or perhaps that’s the two realities colliding,” suggested Sarah Jane.

They reached the spot where Copley had shot Ianto and stood in a loose group, unconsciously recreating the scene from a few days previous. The dense fog wrapped around their legs. “So how do we find this Trickster?” Gwen asked. “Sarah Jane, do you know?”

Sarah Jane glanced around the car park. “Usually he makes himself known when he wants your attention, but I’m not quite sure how to do the reverse. Perhaps we could summon him.”

“What, like a seance?” Owen scowled. “This plan gets better by the minute.”

“I don’t think we need to summon him,” Martha called. She was standing a few paces away from the rest of the group, staring at her feet. “I think he’s already here.”

“Where?” Gwen looked down, then frowned back at Martha. “What did you find? I can’t even see the ground in this fog.”

“Exactly. Watch.” Martha took two large steps to the left. The mist parted around her legs, flowing away from her in a bubble. When she stopped, the empty space settled around her legs, leaving the area by her feet clear and visible. She moved again, and the fogless bubble followed her.

“Now that’s weird.” Owen tried moving to a new location, but the mist swirled thick about his legs wherever he went. “Is that happening to anyone else?”

“It seems to be just Martha,” Toshiko observed. “Although… Jack, is that the movement of your coat pushing away the fog, or is it staying away on its own?”

Jack stared at his feet, then bent and plunged one hand into the mist. The white vapor rolled back from his touch. “It looks like Martha and I are special, somehow.”

“Artron energy?” Sarah Jane suggested. She passed a hand through the mist. “It’s not flowing _away_ from me, exactly, but I can’t seem to touch it. Can anyone else feel the mist?”

Gwen swept her hand through it and shivered. “Yes. It’s cold and clammy.”

“Interesting. I can’t feel it at all. It must be avoiding me, as well.” Sarah Jane turned to Jack. “I suppose you could try calling him.”

Jack shrugged. “Here goes.” He turned to face into the blackness and framed his mouth with his hands. “Trickster!” he shouted. “Appear before me!”

A moment passed, and Jack turned back to the group and shrugged. He was about to speak when Gwen pointed behind him. “Is it just me, or is that fog coming in _really_ thick?”

Jack turned back just as a roiling bank of white mist poured into the space around them, washing them up to the waist in the unsettling, cold sensation. The time travelers remained unaffected, though the gaps surrounding their bodies became more distinctly visible. Martha’s bubble was by far the largest, holding the mist nearly at arm’s length from her body, while Sarah Jane’s was mere inches.

“Demanding, aren’t we, captain?” hissed a voice that set the hair on the back of every neck to attention. “I am no servant, to be ordered so.”

The fog continued rising until the group was surrounded by a hazy white field that obscured their vision in all directions. Jack glanced back to make sure the rest of the team was all right, then turned to face the direction from which the fog had come. Gradually a humanoid figure became visible in the middle distance, gliding atop a bank of white vapor as though it were a solid surface. The bottom edge of its night-black robe vanished into the whiteness.

“So you’re the famous Trickster.” Jack’s chin jutted forward, shoulders square, the picture of defiance.

The figure became clear as it drew nearer. A slit mouth filled with needle teeth slashed across an otherwise featureless face, just visible inside a monstrous hood. “I am.” The hood angled slightly toward the group behind Jack. “Sarah Jane Smith. We meet again. It’s been so long.”

“Never long enough, Trickster.” Her voice quivered with an anger the others had not imagined in the genial woman.

 “Strange happenings in Cardiff lately,” Jack continued, drawing the Trickster’s attention back to himself. “I don’t suppose you’re responsible for the broken timelines?”

“I, captain?” The Trickster’s toothy mouth stretched wide. “It was you, yourself, who charged me to change the past. Do not blame me if you are dissatisfied with the consequences.”

“I don’t remember meeting you before. And no offense, but I kinda think someone with your face would stick in my mind.”

“Don’t antagonize him, captain,” Sarah Jane warned in a low voice.

“You don’t remember because it hasn’t happened yet,” the Trickster hissed with another eerie grin. “But one day, in your future, you will desire this.”

“Why? What happens in my future?”

The Trickster’s hands spread in the universal gesture of a question. “You of all people should know better than to try to foresee the future, captain. Your Time Agency training forbids it, does it not?”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m not convinced that _anything_ in my future could persuade me to agree to destroy the timelines in this way.”

“Oh, but you have, captain. The fact that it has happened is evidence enough.” One of the Trickster’s long arms swept to point to the team gathered behind Jack. Metal claws flashed at the tips of his gloved fingers. “Hasn’t Sarah Jane Smith told you as much? I never interfere without permission. It is against my nature.”

Jack glanced back uncertainly, then refocused on the Trickster. “Well, in that case, you can put the timeline right back where it was. Because I’m not giving my permission any more.”

“It’s too late for that, captain. The change has been made. A new timeline has been set in motion.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jack muttered. In a flash he had drawn his Webley and snapped off a pair of shots. Mist swirled around the Trickster, and he tipped back his featureless head and laughed through barracuda teeth.

“Oh, captain, that won’t help you. I am from beyond your universe, beyond your conception of time. Nothing so mundane as bullets can harm me.”

Jack lowered the weapon, but kept his eyes fixed on the Trickster. “But I’ll bet _something_ can.  And when I find it, I’ll make you wish you’d taken the easy way out.” He holstered the revolver and squared his shoulders. “Remember, I have all the time in the universe to hunt you down. And I can hold a grudge a long, _long_ time.”

“And time means nothing to me,” the Trickster hissed. “Your threats are meaningless, captain. Our bargain has been made and fulfilled. You cannot cheat me by withdrawing your consent while you still reap the benefits.”

“ _Benefits?_ ” Jack seethed. He took one aggressive step forward, but a wall of mist rose up and barred his path. His movements became sluggish as he fought to pass through it. “I swear, when I get my hands on you…”

Before he could say more, Martha stepped up behind him and touched his shoulder. The mist rolled away from her legs as she moved. “Jack,” she said loudly, “it’s no use. You’ll never be able to get through this mist to attack him. You might as well stop trying to fight it.”

Jack turned to frown at her, and Martha put her hand to her open collar. A necklace chain was just visible beneath her shirt.

Jack’s eyes widened fractionally, and he turned back to his enemy. Behind his back, he extended an open palm toward Martha. “Okay. What if I ask really nicely?” he asked, tossing a lopsided grin at the Trickster. “I mean, you’re not really my type, but I’m sure we could think of something mutually… advantageous. You’ll find I’m a pretty versatile guy.”

The Trickster either ignored or didn’t comprehend the proposition. “You and I have already made a bargain, captain. I have no use for another one.”

Jack shrugged. “Your loss. Can’t say I’m disappointed, to be honest, but you might be. I’m pretty sure it would have more pleasant for you than— _this!_ ”

The moment the chains touched his hand, Jack lunged forward. The wall of fog evaporated as he brandished the two TARDIS keys, which glowed faintly with artron energy. The Trickster hissed in alarm and drew back, but Jack reached the pedestal of fog and slashed the keys through it. The Trickster reeled as his misty construct began to disintegrate around him.

In an instant the Trickster had wheeled to take a new position, deeper in the fog, but once again Jack charged forward. The Trickster bared his claws and hissed menacingly, but as Jack drew nearer the black form shied back from the gleaming keys. Seeing his chance, Jack dove for him.

As Jack’s hand closed on the crepelike material of the Trickster’s flowing robe, the world around him splintered into fragments. Light and darkness, matter and vacuum, the very fabric of space, wove together and separated. Jack saw time itself unfurl before him. He tumbled forward until the future rose up to meet him, and a voiceless scream tore through his mind as memories he hadn’t yet lived slammed home.

In an instant, he saw the truth.

He saw the bargain he had made.

And he wept.


	19. Five Years Later

Jack stood before Ianto’s grave.

Even after his return to Earth, it had taken him months to work up the courage to come here. Unlike him, the grave had aged; the rectangle of new turf laid down to cover the once-disturbed earth blended almost seamlessly with the established grass of the cemetery, and the little wreath of silk flowers on its wobbling plastic stand had long since faded to a nondescript color. In the long line of neglected markers, this plot might have belonged to any forgotten soul.

But it didn’t. Ianto Jones’ name was cut into the polished granite with agonizing clarity, still too recent for the elements to have worn away at the letters. Still too sharp to soften the lancing pain that stabbed through Jack’s chest.

Jack hadn’t brought flowers. Ianto had never cared for them. He’d preferred more practical tokens, such as silk neckties or exotic coffee blends—though he could always be charmed by anything James Bond-related, Jack recalled. He smiled at a fond memory: Ianto’s beaming face as he examined his Christmas gift, a set of S. T. Dupont cufflinks identical to Bond’s in _Casino Royale_. And afterward, Ianto had expressed his appreciation for the gift with more than usual ardor…

He shied away from the recollection. Still too sharp.

Jack didn’t know exactly why he had come to this place. There was no absolution for him here. He had no new words to convey to the friend and lover he’d led to his death, and the guilt still dragged at each beat of his eternal heart.

Was that why he had come? To punish himself?

“Do you think he blames you?”

Jack whirled at the incursion into his silent reverie. In the shadow of an oak tree a short distance away lurked a tall, hooded figure. Something about the form felt _off_ , though Jack couldn’t place it. One hand moved slowly toward the leather holster he always wore at his hip. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Just a friend,” the figure replied. There was an incongruous echo beneath its hissing voice, the acoustics all wrong for this setting. The sound stirred the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck, and he shivered. “But you haven’t answered my question, captain. Do you think Ianto Jones blames you for what you did?”

Jack remained silent as the figure drew nearer. A large hood shaded an unsettling face, completely featureless save for a slit mouth full of pointed teeth. Another shiver wracked Jack’s body, and he glanced around to see the graveyard filling with a cold mist.

“But then, I don’t suppose it really matters if he blames you,” the being continued, its tone becoming almost sympathetic. “It’s clear enough that you blame yourself. And not just for him. You bear the guilt for your team, for your brother, for your grandson…”

Jack popped the holster strap free of its brass fastener. “Who are you,” he ground out, “and how do you know about me?”

“I know all.” The figure made a sweeping gesture with one hand, mist swirling about its arm. “I see all, through time, through space.” The arm continued its arc until it was pointing at Jack’s hand, now resting on the pommel of his Webley. “You won’t need that, captain. I am not here to threaten you.”

“Why are you here, then?” Jack shifted his hand away from the revolver, but did not refasten the strap. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”

“You would not know my true name, for it is from beyond your universe. I am here to help you, captain. I am here to offer you another chance at those years you so deeply regret.”

Jack released a humorless laugh. “If you know so much about me, then you should already know I’ve had my fill of reliving history. Thanks, but I’m not interested in another tour.”

The slit mouth stretched wider. “Not reliving, captain. _Rewriting_.”

“Time can’t be rewritten.”

“It can,” the hooded one assured him. “I have that power… that gift. And I will share it with you. Together, we can change your past.”

“Then I don’t suppose you’d mind changing the events that transpired on a certain satellite in the year 200,100?” Jack’s grin felt more like a snarl. “Best help you could give me. Kill me off properly back then. Keep me from becoming immortal.”

The cloak dipped lower, concealing the featureless face. “The one thing I cannot alter is the vortex itself, and that is what you have been touched by, captain. I cannot change _you_.” The figure raised its head again. “But I can spare you a great deal of pain.”

Jack turned back to the grave. “Unless you can tell me how to die, I don’t think I’ll ever be free of that.”

He sensed the hooded figure moving nearer. “I can change what happened back then,” the voice continued, echoing unnaturally. “You know when all of this began. The beginning of the fall… the decline of Torchwood…”

Jack gave a snort. “Try 1879.”

“ _Your_ Torchwood, captain. Do you remember? The landslide began when Owen Harper died. First Owen, then Toshiko Sato. Your brother, Gray. All the lives he took because you failed to stop him. Then your own dear Ianto, who followed you bravely into battle, only to die a meaningless death. And Stephen, your innocent grandson… So many lives, captain. So much loss. So much pain.”

“I remember it all,” Jack hissed. “I don’t need you to remind me.”

“I can change the past, captain, starting with the day Owen Harper was shot. You can rewrite everything that happened after that moment.”

Jack plunged his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling. “Nothing can change the past. Those events are fixed.”

“Not for me. I exist outside the constraints of your timeline.”

“The consequences could be devastating. Screwing around with the past is never a good idea.”

The eerie voice seemed to chuckle, though Jack could no longer see the being that owned it. “Don’t confuse my abilities with the primitive methods of your Time Agency, captain. I can reshape the fabric of time without tearing it. You need only say the word, and I will stop the bullet that killed Owen Harper.”

The poisonous well of hope threatened to rise in his chest, but Jack dammed it back. “Even if you are telling the truth, why would you do this? Why offer to change history for me?”

The hooded figure drifted back into view, somewhere off to his left. The fog was making it difficult to gauge distances. “Because it is within my power to do so,” the voice said. “It fulfills my purpose. I could end all struggle and strife on this planet, if only people would permit me to aid them. Instead, they cling stubbornly to their pain and anguish, and will not accept what I freely offer.”

“Because it sounds too good to be true. No one could have that kind of power.” He shivered, thinking of Rose, the time vortex, his own immortality. “No one _should_.”

The figure shrugged. “If I can not do what I have said, then you have nothing to lose by accepting my offer.” After a moment’s pause, the being spread its hands. “But if you deny this chance, if you refuse to save them, then you are condemning them to their fate by your own will.”

Jack stood silently, eyes fixed on the cold granite stone before him. The mist roiled thick about his legs, obscuring the carved name, until the grave faded to a shadow in the fog.

“You can save them, captain. You can change everything that happened. Only give me your permission, and I will change the past.”

“Owen? And Tosh?” He swallowed, but couldn’t manage more than a whisper. “Ianto?”

“I will spare Owen Harper. I will divert the first stone in the landslide. The rest—what transpires beyond, what you make of this opportunity—is up to you, captain.”

Jack closed his eyes. Visions of his team, his friends, his loved ones, his family, played in the darkness behind his lids. His ears caught the echo of a child’s laugh. The warmth of a remembered embrace chased away the chill of the fog. The shadow of a lover’s gentle touch ghosted across his cheek.

“You must choose to accept my offer, captain,” the voice echoed again. “Do I have your agreement?”

Jack’s voice broke as the single word was drawn almost unwillingly from his throat.

“Yes.”


	20. Friday

_“Yes.”_

Jack came to awareness slumped forward on his knees. His greatcoat, heavy with rain, sagged over him, weighing him down. Cold mud seeped through his trousers, but it wasn’t the damp or chill that caused his trembling.

He sobbed once, and the air stabbed through him like that first agonizing breath after death. Tears streamed from his eyes, but already the details of the vision that had drawn them were fading from his mind. Only one memory remained clear: He had agreed to the Trickster’s offer of his own free will. _He_ was responsible for the devastation that now threatened the world. Whatever horrors the future held for him had broken not only his heart, but his resistance, and he had surrendered to the one temptation every time traveler knew must never be indulged. He had tried to change his own past.

Gradually he became aware of the voices surrounding him, the hands lifting him up and roving over him to check for injury. He rubbed rain and tears from his eyes and tried to focus on his team.

“Jack, speak to me,” Gwen urged, a frantic note in her voice. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

He sluggishly pushed aside the probing hands. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Owen frowned. “You don’t look it. What happened to you? Where did the Trickster go?”

Jack glanced around and realized the mist had vanished. “I don’t know. What did you see?”

“You jumped at him, there was a big flash of light, and when we could see again, you were kneeling on the ground, freaking out. The Trickster was gone.”

“The artron energy must have driven him away,” Sarah Jane said. “That was quick thinking, using your TARDIS key to disrupt his control of the environment.”

Jack looked down at the twin chains still dangling from his hand. “Thank Martha. It was her brilliant idea.”

Martha smiled. “Not that brilliant. I noticed that the fog was staying farther away from me than it was from either of you, and I figured it must be because I was wearing both our keys. Double the power.” She took the keys from Jack’s hand and reached up to slip one chain over his head. She let her hand rest significantly on the key for a moment, reminding him with a warm smile of the year they had never spent saving the world. “It’s a shared responsibility.”

Jack looked down at the key and sighed heavily. “A responsibility I don’t deserve to hold.” In answer to Martha’s bemused look, he shook his head. “Sarah Jane was right. I accepted the Trickster’s bargain. I started all this. It’s my fault.”

Gwen frowned up at him. “How do you know?”

“When I touched him, I remembered it. Or… foresaw it. It happens in the future.” He shuddered, but managed to disguise it as a shiver.

“You’re soaked through. We should get you out of the rain.”

“I’ll be okay. I can’t exactly catch my death of cold.” Jack smiled feebly, but the flippant exterior took too much effort to maintain. He drew and expelled a long breath, dreading what would come next. “And we’re not finished here. We still have to reset the timeline.”

Sarah Jane looked away. Toshiko glanced from Jack to Owen in alarm. “What does that mean?” she asked warily.

Owen met Jack’s eyes, and for a long moment the only sound was the soft patter of rain on the pavement.

At last Jack spoke. “It means we have to correct the defining event that created the alternate timeline.”

Toshiko stepped in front of Owen. “You can’t.”

“You heard the Trickster. I can’t nullify our bargain while the changes he made are still in effect. The shot Copley fired that night was meant for Owen, not Ianto.”

“ _Meant for?_ ” Toshiko’s lips curled. “Don’t pretend it’s some kind of fate or destiny deciding this. This is about what _you_ want. It’s always about you, Jack, never anyone else!”

He was too weary to raise his voice. “Tosh, this is about saving the world. Nothing else.”

“Is it?” Furious tears blended with the rain on her face. “If Ianto hadn’t died, would you even consider this? If their places were reversed, would you murder Ianto to keep Owen alive?”

Jack wanted to refute her assertion, to insist that he would always place the welfare of the world first—but in his mind lurked the shadow of a future memory, of that fateful _yes_ he’d uttered that had landed them in this untenable situation. One day, he knew, he _would_ sacrifice the world to his own desires. How far off was that day?

He was spared more of Toshiko’s rancor when Owen placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tosh, stop. It’s not Jack’s fault.”

“I’m not going to let him kill you!”

“He’s not going to,” Owen said softly. His eyes moved past her and swept the rest of the group. “Could we have a little space?”

Jack knew better than anyone what Toshiko was feeling, and the least he could give them was a private moment to say their goodbyes. “We’ll wait at the cars,” he said, and shepherded the rest of the group away.

* * *

Toshiko stood her ground, watching the rest of the team retreat across the car park. Owen’s hands on her shoulders were two points of warmth shielding her from the cold drizzle. “Tosh, it’s okay.”

“It is _not_ okay!” She whirled on him. “Don’t pretend it’s okay!”

“You’re right. It’s not okay.” His quiet words checked her next outburst, and she looked into his eyes to see her own fear and anger mirrored there. “It’s rubbish. It’s bloody unfair. It’s complete _shit_. But it’s what has to be done to save the world.” His lips crooked in a half-smile. “I’m a doctor. Saving people is what I’m supposed to do.”

“Not at the cost of your own life,” she countered. “Doctors aren’t meant to die for their patients.”

“No,” he agreed soberly. “But I’m also Torchwood, and that _is_ what we do. It’s what you’d do. What any of us would.”

She blinked back fresh tears. “Then let someone else. Why does it have to be you?”

Owen plunged his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t know why, Tosh. I only know that it does. I’ve known from the start. It’s what I’ve been seeing, all along.”

“But I saved you from that,” she pleaded. “I stabilized the timeline. We can find a way to fix this that doesn’t cost your life. All we need is a little more time. I’ll figure it out, I promise. But please, _please_ , don’t die.”

Owen shook his head. “I already have, Tosh. I died a week ago. I saw it happen. And if I don’t do it again, the rest of the world is going to die with me.” He withdrew one hand from his pocket and tipped her chin up toward his face, forcing her to meet his eyes. “And I don’t want that. I don’t want you to die, or any of the others. Not when I can save you all.”

Toshiko’s breath caught in a sob, and Owen put an arm around her. “I’m sorry we never got our date,” he whispered. “I think we could have been good together.”

She pulled back and cradled his face between her hands. “We still could, Owen. We still will. I’ll find a way. I won’t let Jack—”

Owen kissed her.

She was so caught by surprise, so focused on the sensation of his lips on hers that she almost didn’t feel the prick in her shoulder. It wasn’t until the burn of solution spread through the muscle of her arm that she realized what had happened. She tried to pull away, but he had caught her wrists, and his grip was strong. “No!” she screamed. “What are you doing? What did you dose me with?”

“Tosh, it’s okay—”

“It is _not_ okay!” she sobbed, pounding her pinioned fists against his chest, fighting him with all her strength. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and though she knew it would only spread the drug faster, she couldn’t control her frantic breathing. “I won’t let you do this!”

“It’s my decision to make, Tosh.”

“No, it isn’t! What about the rest of us? What about the people who care about you?” Distantly she heard the shouts and steps of the others approaching behind her. Sound was beginning to muddle in her ears. “What about me?”

Owen held her fast. “I wish I could explain so you could understand, but you just have to trust me. I know this is the right thing to do.”

“I won’t let you die…” Her vision flared brighter as the sedative began to take effect, eyes dilating as the muscles controlling her pupils relaxed. “You can’t! Please, Owen, don’t go…”

His arms moved to circle her shoulders, and he supported her weight as her knees liquefied beneath her. “I have to,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to, believe me, but I have to. It’s the only way.”

With the last of her strength she clung to his shirt. “Please,” she slurred into his collar. “Don’t leave me. I love you…”

The last sensation she felt was the brush of his lips against her ear. “I’m sorry, Tosh,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

Jack was the first to reach them. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, scooping Toshiko into his arms. She struggled feebly, barely conscious.

Owen held up a syringe. “I knew she would put up a fight, so I came prepared. I figured this would be easier for her than watching it happen.”

Martha went straight to Toshiko and checked her pulse. “What did you give her?”

“Propofol, plus a pinch of B67-gamma.”

Martha frowned. “I know the first. What’s the second one?”

“It’s one of the components of Retcon,” Jack supplied. “A memory inhibitor.”

“That way, you can tell her whatever story you like when she wakes up. She won’t blame you for my death.” Owen passed the syringe to Martha. “Dispose of this properly, will you?” He turned to Gwen. “This is going to be hard on Tosh. You’ll have to help her get through it.”

“Owen, think about this, please.” Gwen sounded close to tears. “There has to be another way.”

He shook his head. “That’s just the thing. I have been thinking about it. Ever since Ianto was shot, I’ve known that it should have been me. And every day that passes, every time I black out, I see more and more of that other world. The one where I died.” He met Jack’s eyes. “Ianto’s alive in that world. He’s fine.”

“But what about you?” Gwen pressed. “We can’t just let you die.”

“It’s my choice.” He looked around at the faces of his teammates. “All of us have that choice. We all know we’re going to die working for Torchwood, sooner or later. At least I get the luxury of choosing how and when I go.” He made an effort at a smile. “This beats ending up as Weevil shit, or something.”

Gwen nodded through her tears and threw her arms around Owen. “We’ll miss you.”

Martha hugged him next, murmuring her farewells. Sarah Jane shook his hand. “It was an honor to work with you, Dr. Harper.”

Owen tossed her a grin. “Nah. Everyone says it’s a pain in the arse working with me, but thanks for being polite.” He looked around at the tearful faces and waved his arms in the direction the vehicles were parked. “Go on, shoo. Let me die in peace.”

Jack carefully transferred Toshiko to the arms of Martha and Gwen. “You three, take her back to the car and look after her.”

“Wait,” Owen said. He stepped closer and drew Martha’s pistol from the holster on her hip.

She looked at him in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“Nine-millimeter,” he said, showing the gun. “I don’t know if it matters, but that’s what Ianto was shot with. We should probably keep things as close to original events as possible. I’m carrying a forty-five, and that antique of Jack’s would probably break the timeline or something.”

Martha nodded reluctantly, and after another shooing gesture from Owen, they turned and slowly carried Toshiko back toward the cars. Jack waited until the women were out of earshot before turning back to Owen. “Are you sure about this?”

Owen let his glib facade drop. “We both know it’s necessary, Jack.”

“I know.” Jack’s voice was strained. He sounded almost as scared as Owen felt.

Owen experienced a surge of irrational anger. What did Jack have to be frightened of? He was bloody immortal. Owen was the one staring down the barrel of a gun… He weighed the pistol in his hand, wondering if it really mattered _how_ he died. How long did it take to lose consciousness after a shot to the heart? Should he have saved some of that sedative for himself?

Jack’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. “I’m going to stay with you. You won’t be alone.”

Owen nodded, a sudden tightness in his throat preventing him from expressing his relief. He gripped the pistol, stepped back, and braced himself. “Well, Jack, it’s been fun,” he said. “So long.”

He bent his arm and placed the muzzle over his heart. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see it happen, or see the agonized look on Jack’s face. One twitch of his finger was all it would take. One tiny muscle contraction to end his life, to save the world, to make him a hero.

To blow a pound-coin hole through his left ventricle, like the one he’d sewn up on Ianto. To exsanguinate him while he lay helpless, in staggering pain and shock. To starve his brain of oxygen until neural relays could not be completed and critical tissues began to fail. To erase him from existence.

His arm fell to his side as he gasped for breath, and he crumpled. “I can’t do it,” he sobbed. “I can’t do it. I’m scared, Jack.” In a moment an arm was around his shoulders, and he found his face pressed into the wet wool of Jack’s greatcoat. “I can’t. I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” Jack whispered. “You’re human.” Owen felt the weight of the pistol leave his hand. “You don’t have to do it. It’s my responsibility. I will.”

“I’m scared,” Owen repeated. “I don’t know what’s out there.”

“I do.” Jack smoothed back his hair as though he were a child and spoke soothingly. “You don’t have to be afraid, Owen. I know you’re strong enough to face this.”

“I don’t feel strong.”

Jack smiled, though tears were streaming down his face. “You are.”

In an instant a thousand unfinished things raced through Owen’s mind. Reports left unfiled, a half-eaten pizza in one of the cold storage units, a rented DVD unreturned… He looked up frantically. “Jack, that time I killed you… I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I don’t know if I ever said—”

Jack hugged him close and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and the depth of his forgiveness made Owen want to weep.

“Close your eyes,” Jack whispered. Owen did, and cold, damp air replaced the warmth of Jack’s presence. He tried not to shiver, tried not to count seconds, tried not to strain his ears for the rustling of Jack’s sleeve that would predict the—

A single gunshot cracked across the car park, and the universe shattered.


	21. Saturday

Ianto fumbled the keys in his hand and swore as they fell to the pavement. He leaned against the door for support as he groped after them, not trusting himself to bend at the waist without falling. He felt utterly _exhausted._ Not physically—he’d come through the day relatively unscathed, considering the deadly peril the world had once again been in—but mentally, emotionally, he was completely drained.

He made it through the lobby door and was stumbling toward the stairs that led to his first-floor flat when a frail voice stopped him. “Good evening, Mr. Jones,” called Mrs. Abner, who lived in the flat directly below his. The elderly woman was leaning on her cane by the mailboxes, envelopes in hand. “No soldier tonight?”

He didn’t know what she meant by that, so he just returned a bland smile. “Good evening.” He hoped she didn’t keep him for a long conversation; she was a nice enough old lady, but he wasn’t sure how long he could trade banal pleasantries without becoming uncivil.

Mrs. Abner hobbled a few steps closer. “It’s quite late, isn’t it? Have you been at work all this time?”

He shrugged. “We had a bit of an emergency. All sorted now, but I had to stay late at the, um, office.”

“I do hope you’ll get some rest. I worry about you sometimes, Mr. Jones. I know how hard you work.”

Ianto thought that unlikely, considering she didn’t even know what his job was, but he chalked it up to senility and politely excused himself.

It felt as though an extra dozen steps had been installed between the ground and first floors, because his legs were aching by the time he reached his flat. He let himself in and collapsed on the first upholstered surface he encountered, which happened to be the couch.

Before he could even kick off his shoes, his mobile rang. With a groan, Ianto dug it out of his pocket. “’llo,” he mumbled into the handset.

Gwen’s voice didn’t sound much better than his own. “Ianto, sorry to bother you, but did Tosh go home with you? I saw her car was still at the Hub when I left.”

Ianto grunted an affirmative. “I drove her to her place, made sure she got inside all right. She was still pretty shaken up after everything that happened.”

“Poor lamb. I don’t know how she’s coping with all of this. She was so upset last night when Owen died, I thought she’d never stop crying. And then to have him come back like that, possessed…”

“Yup. I was there, Gwen.”

“…and then everything that happened at the hospital…”

“Was there for that part, too.”

“She must have been wrung in knots by the end of it. Not that it was a picnic for the rest of us, but it’s worse for her. You know how she feels about Owen.”

“ _Everyone_ knows how she feels about Owen, except Owen.”

“Sorry, I know I’m running on.” Gwen’s words faded into a yawn. “Rhys is still cooking, so I haven’t told him everything yet.” At the mention of food, Ianto’s stomach rumbled. Had he eaten today? “Anyway, I’m knackered,” Gwen went on. “You must be, too.”

“Yeah. Long day.” Ianto rubbed his eyes. “Was there anything else?”

“No, I just wanted to check that Tosh made it home okay. I’ll see you in the morning, then. Good night.”

“Good night, Gwen.”

Ianto shoved the mobile back in his pocket and threw an arm over his eyes. Jack had sent everyone—the living, at least—home to rest, but despite his mental fatigue, Ianto didn’t really feel like going to bed yet. He supposed he was too keyed up from the weekend’s events. Owen’s death had hit them all hard, and his unexpected revival had been a nightmare of an entirely different kind.

At least Jack would think twice about using any sort of alien resurrection device in the future, assuming any other pieces of the set had survived. Ianto fervently hoped they hadn’t, not least because he wasn’t sure he could continue coming up with names for them. “Risen Mitten” was enough of a stretch; what would he christen a boot, or a helmet? _Renew Shoe? Undead Head?_ He groaned and vowed to find a rhyming dictionary before he was required to name any new artifacts.

But in spite of Jack’s ill-advised decision to revive Owen, it had all worked out in the end. The world had been saved, and somehow Owen was still ambulatory despite being dead, and Martha had agreed to stay until they figured out exactly what was going on, so all was as well as could be expected. Another fine day’s work at Torchwood Cardiff. Another tally mark in the “World Saved” column for Wales’ unsung heroes. Another bruise, another stiff neck, another corpse to hide. Or a dozen—in the last twenty-four hours, Ianto had processed paperwork on enough bodies to populate the cast of a small zombie film. Copley’s, then Owen’s, then all the victims Death Incarnate had taken from the hospital.

Ianto reached for the remote control and made a halfhearted attempt to find something interesting on the telly, but the programs he found seemed to require more mental effort than he was willing to invest. He considered putting on a film he’d seen before, but for once even his old favorites didn’t tempt him. The gun-blazing antics of James Bond sounded a little less thrilling after Ianto had watched his friend and colleague die from a bullet through the heart.

Ianto’s thoughts turned back to the scene at the Pharm, and once again he marveled how near death they had all come. Of course, they faced danger every day, but Owen’s death had made him realize how narrow the margin was by which they survived. Had Copley’s aim been a few centimeters off, the bullet might have missed Owen and hit Tosh, or Gwen, or Martha. Or himself.

Ianto shivered as he wondered what might have happened had he died there, instead. Would Jack have tried to resurrect him with the glove? Would Ianto have returned with an unwelcome spiritual hitchhiker, the same way Owen had? Would he have possessed the courage or the fortitude to defeat Death itself?

If he had died, would Jack have mourned him, or just moved on?

But all this speculating and wondering was pointless, and was only exhausting him further. He needed to ground himself in reality—preferably by putting something solid in his stomach, as his midsection reminded him with another audible growl. He rolled ungracefully off the couch and padded into his kitchen in search of food.

Normally his meal schedule was determined by when he carried food in to the Hub, but they had been so preoccupied with the impending destruction of all life on earth that he hadn’t made his usual takeaway run. Ianto couldn’t remember the last proper meal he had eaten. He probably needed some protein. Or, he decided as he scanned the disappointing contents of his refrigerator, perhaps a beer.

Ianto stared at a bottle of lager, remembering Owen’s lament that he could no longer drink, and sighed. More than anything, he needed a distraction. He needed comfort. He needed…

Well, no. Strictly speaking, he _wanted_ Jack. That was an important distinction, and one he had to keep making to himself. Whatever undefinable limbo their relationship existed in, he couldn’t afford to become too dependent on Jack. Ianto cherished their intimacy, but he sensed that trying to pin Jack down into any kind of traditional relationship would spell the end of whatever it was they had together.

With an effort, Ianto pushed thoughts of Jack away and began rooting through his pantry. He was weighing the relative merits of spag bol versus beans on toast when he spotted a dark bottle lurking at the back of a shelf. Frowning, he brought it into the light and examined the label. It was an expensive claret, one of Jack’s favorites, which Ianto had bought on a whim and had been saving for some elegant evening that he’d never quite gotten around to planning.

Something about that bottle… Ianto closed his eyes and felt the feather-tips of a memory brush his thoughts. He tasted sadness, frustration, anger, longing… What was it about the bottle that stirred his emotions? What pressed him with such a sense of urgency?

Why couldn’t he _remember_?

Ianto wiped a layer of dust from the bottle, and was suddenly overtaken with an irrational desire to share it with Jack immediately. _Tonight_. But that was a ridiculous idea; the last two days had been hell on their nerves, and he knew both he and Jack were exhausted, so tonight was hardly ideal timing for the relaxing, romantic candlelit dinner he’d imagined.

On the other hand… he _was_ rather hungry, and he was reasonably certain that Jack would not have eaten, either. And if Ianto craved a distraction after the day’s events, he knew Jack would be _desperate_ for one. And that wine had already been collecting dust in his pantry for months. If he waited for Torchwood to grant them perfect timing, it would turn to vinegar before they ever had the chance to open it.

Ianto slapped his palm flat on the countertop, expelling his indecision. If there was anything he had learned from these last two days, it was that life was fragile and uncertain, and every moment of it was precious. He fished out his mobile and cradled it against his shoulder while he began clearing clutter from the kitchen table. “Jack? It’s me. Yup. No, everything’s fine. I was just wondering… Have you had supper?”

Jack’s reply hummed against his ear. Ianto set two wine glasses beside the bottle and smiled. “Want to come over to mine? I’ve got something special.”


	22. Five Years Later

Leaves crunched behind him, and Jack turned to see a woman approaching across the cemetery grass, scanning the horizon. As she drew closer, she noticed Jack and adjusted her course to come toward him.

“Captain Harkness!” she called. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jack nodded a greeting. “Sarah Jane Smith. It’s been a few years.”

“It has, hasn’t it? Though considering the circumstances under which we tend to meet, I suppose we should be glad. At least it means the world hasn’t been in grave peril lately.”

“Yeah, I’ll forego the class reunion if it means there are no Daleks on the planet.” He tilted his head at her. “So what are you doing here?”

 Sarah Jane held up her wrist. The face of the watch was open, revealing the extraterrestrial device beneath. “I was in the area and picked up some alien readings. I know Wales is Torchwood territory, but I thought I should check them out as long as I was here.”

Jack smiled faintly. “I’m not sure we have a territory anymore. Torchwood isn’t what it used to be.”

“I’d heard rumors to that effect, but I’d hoped they weren’t true.” She tugged her coat collar higher as a breeze rustled around them. “So, have you found anything so far, or…?” Her eyes went to the stone in front of Jack, and her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought… I didn’t realize you were here to visit someone.”

“It’s all right. I was just about to leave.” He nodded toward her wrist. “And I don’t think you’ll get any more readings. There was something here, but it’s gone now.”

“Ah.” She closed the top of the watch, and looked down at the gravestone again. “Ianto Jones. He was one of your colleagues at Torchwood, wasn’t he?”

Jack shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “He was a lot more than that.”

Sarah Jane looked up at his face, then placed a hand on his arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry, captain.”

“Just Jack is fine.” He gazed at the stone, scarcely seeing it. “I had a chance to save him. Just now, I was offered the chance. I knew it was a bad deal. I knew it, but I couldn’t help it.” He tore his eyes away and stared up at the sky. “I almost destroyed the world, just for a chance to see him again.”

“But you didn’t, Jack. The world’s still here.”

“Kinda wish it weren’t.”

“I know.” She linked her hand through his arm. “Did you see him, then?”

“Sort of. In a timeline that never existed.” He scuffed his toe at a clump of grass. “But it didn’t fix anything. I made the same mistakes then that I did the first time. I still couldn’t tell him… what I wanted him to know.”

“You know we can’t ever change what happened in the past. Not really.”

Jack laughed humorlessly. “I ought to know that, but I let myself forget it a little while ago.”

“That sounds familiar. The Trickster?” He nodded, and Sarah Jane sighed. “He’s very convincing.”

“It won’t happen again. Not now.” Jack looked away. “In that world, I had to do things… make decisions that…” He broke off with a shudder.

“I take it… someone died?” she asked softly.

Jack nodded. “Two,” he ground out. “Both my responsibility.”

Sarah Jane squeezed his arm. “You never actually did any of those things, Jack. That timeline was erased.”

“Erased or not, I still made those choices.” He closed his eyes. “It was my finger on the trigger.”

“But remember who put the gun in your hand. The Trickster forced you to choose, using the scenario _he_ created. That’s his way of manipulating people. Even when you do the right thing, he makes you feel like it was your own decision to kill the ones you love. But it’s not your fault.”

The ghost of a memory possessed Jack, and for an instant he was cradling a frail body in his arms. _It_ _’s not your fault_ , Ianto murmured. _You didn_ _’t choose the circumstances. I forgive you for doing what you must_.

“But I’m the one who has to live with the memory,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure which of them he was answering. “And the things I _really_ did—the decisions I had to make, in reality—they were no better.” His throat threatened to close, but he choked out the rest. “I’ve done so many horrible things.”

The cold wind knifed against them, and Sarah Jane leaned closer, an aura of warmth against his side. “Sometimes we have no alternative,” she said quietly. “Sometimes it doesn’t take the Trickster for everything to conspire against us. But even when there is no right answer, we just have to do the best we can in the circumstances we’re given.”

The memory loomed again. Jack pushed it away, but an echo returned. _I forgive you for doing what you must_.

“I know it’s hard to let go of the guilt.” Sarah Jane witnessed his struggle with eyes full of sympathy. “The Trickster did the same thing to me, you know.”

Jack nodded, relieved to move the focus away from himself. “Your parents.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You know about that?”

“You told me in the other timeline.”

“I see. It happened with my parents, too, but that wasn’t the only time the Trickster targeted me. I was actually thinking of my husband—” She shook her head. “Well, I can hardly call him that; we were only married for a few minutes, in a reality that no longer exists. In the timeline we restored, he died before we ever met.” She looked down at her hands and traced a line over her left ring finger. “It seems silly sometimes, mourning for someone I never actually knew.”

“It’s not.” Jack slung an arm around her shoulders. “You still have those memories, and he _was_ your husband. You loved him, you married him. You’re allowed to miss him.”

She nodded. “I could never forget him. I did love him. And that’s what counts, isn’t it? The very fact that the Trickster targets those people in order to change our past shows how much they shaped our lives. Quite literally, we wouldn’t be the people we are now if we hadn’t loved them. They are an inseparable part of us. That’s what really matters.”

“Yes,” Jack murmured. Through his mind flew images of Ianto—a thousand fleeting moments in time, yet each one distinct and essential. Ianto, with his loyalty and unwavering belief and selfless love, had shaped Jack in so many ways. Through everything, Ianto had supported him. Guided him. Trusted him.

Forgiven him.

He caught his breath as the memory of Ianto’s words returned again. Ianto had granted him absolution long ago; perhaps it was time Jack allowed himself to accept it.

Jack gazed at Ianto’s name, carved indelibly into the stone. The pain of loss still probed at his raw soul, but its edges had softened, salved by the memory of all they had meant to each other, and what that would continue to mean to Jack. “Yes,” he said again. “That’s _everything_ that matters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you expecting an upbeat, fix-it style ending? Well, the great thing about fragmenting timelines is that there can be more than one of them! Check out the alternate ending here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/9651758>.
> 
> Ever since reading about the original story plan for Series 2, in which Ianto was meant to die at the end of _Reset_ instead of Owen, I’ve wondered how Jack and Ianto would have dealt with that scenario. One factor that intrigued me was the loss of physical intimacy, which has always been their primary means of processing tragedy (mutual consolation was the whole reason they got together in the first place, per _Broken_ ). I wanted to explore the relationship through the lens of a major crisis that also deprived them of their default coping mechanism.
> 
> I chose the Trickster as the catalyst for this event not only because rewriting the past is what he does most of the time, but also because the Trickster was (at the time) the only alien enemy to feature in every New Who series, and using an established villain seemed more plausible than creating an original menace. (The Trickster is in _Doctor Who_ , _Torchwood_ , and _The Sarah Jane Adventures_. He does not appear in _Class_ , but that series had not yet aired when I wrote this story.) The Reapers are also a _Doctor Who_ enemy, though they do not appear in the spinoffs.
> 
> I did take a few liberties: Jack does reference the Trickster in the 1920s flashbacks in _Miracle Day_ , so technically he should have known about the Pantheon of Discord before Sarah Jane told him in this story. But since _Miracle Day_ was a complete train wreck when it came to internal consistency (Jack somehow knows he’s a fixed point in time eighty years before the Doctor explains it to him? Jack wears a WWII coat a decade and a half before WWII begins?) I felt totally justified in hand-waving that fact.
> 
> I hope you’ve enjoyed the story! I’d love to know what you thought, so feel free to leave a comment with your impressions or feedback. Thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Splinter - Alternate Ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651758) by [AVAAntares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVAAntares/pseuds/AVAAntares)




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